Hotter Than July
by girlintheyankeeshat
Summary: Warm weather, flirtation and a few lessons to be learned. Luby. Please R&R! The final chapter, 25 is up! Your final comments please :
1. Sunshine

Title: Hotter Than July  
  
Rating: PG-13, but R later on...  
  
Disclaimer: The ER characters do not belong to me, neither do any products, song lyrics or literary quotations mentioned.  
  
Summary: Warm weather, flirtation and a few lessons to be learned. Luby. Sort of AU, sort of not.  
  
Spoilers: Some season 9 and maybe early 10 I guess.  
  
Reviews: Please, if you have the time, R&R. Thankyou. Constructive criticism is welcome, but I'm 80% of the way through this and happy so far :) My first fic, so be nice please!!   
  
Dedications: To Claire, for putting the idea in my head to write fanfic, and for her endless videotaping, I am very grateful. To Natasha for reading without having ever seen the show, amazing!! And to No 13.baby for her emails, so great to talk to another writer :) And to all the Lubies in the world :)  
  
A/N: Apologies if some of my British phrases are alien, please do not hesitate to email me to ask anything and I will get back to you ASAP. Secondly I started writing this in July 2002, it was meant to be AU season 9, it has now turned into sort of AU sort of not so apologies if it seems a little disjointed!!   
  
In the summer, it never worked. In the winter, it doubled the coldness. Whoever invented air conditioning had to be taking the piss, Abby thought, heading for the exit, Marlboro Lights in hand, dying for the contradictions that were fresh air and a good smoke. She was momentarily interrupted by an onrushing Carter.   
  
"You OK?" He asked, brightly.  
  
She smiled, realising for once that she was not tired of the question or faking the answer when she replied. "Yeah. Just need some fresh air."   
  
"You'll be lucky. They say it's almost eighty-five degrees out there."   
  
"Anything's better than baking my ass off in here," she said, grinning.  
  
The hot, sticky air clung with a vice-like grip, the humidity instantly rising to meet her. Not even the draught from the doors closing behind her made any difference. Out of the furnace, into the flames. As always, she thought, eyeing the glowing tip of the cigarette, watching shades of red, orange and yellow smoulder away to greying ash. She took another long drag, feeling the precious rush of the nicotine beginning to kick in. Abby leant back against the wall, the sun blazing in her face, her eyes tormented by the brightness. Before she had been a smoker she had always wondered why people chose to light up in the summer, as if it was somehow warm. Warm it was not. Addictive, it certainly was.   
  
Closing her eyes, she let the cacophony of sensations take over for a few precious moments of much-needed escapism. Nothing passed through her consciousness except the tiny daggers of ultraviolet piercing her skin with such vibrant rays. Opening her eyes again, she leisurely surveyed her surroundings. OK, so summer meant acute sunburn, more drink driving, hyperactivity and general hospital mayhem. But it also meant warm sunshine, long, beautiful evenings and...oh God, not in this weather! She blinked to ensure this was not some crazy hallucination. Approaching her was a jogging Luka. She had never seen him so exhausted before, and that really was saying something.  
  
"Taking the scenic route?" She quipped, knowing he was off work today. Catching his breath, he struggled for an answer.  
  
"Just trying to..."  
  
"Lose weight?" She joked, enjoying the horror on his face as he gazed sceptically at his stomach. And men think we're vain!  
  
He grimaced, then looked up. "Get fit."   
  
Abby quickly took hold of his burning hot arm and smiled. "I'm kidding. You're fine." "But you'd better go before anybody sees you. I mean, running in this heat? They'll be dragging you upstairs in no time."   
  
Luka smiled, but made no reply. Abby frowned at him, wondering why she was trying to remember something. Then, through the incandescent summer haze, her mind caught up with her.   
  
  
  
"Oh God. Do we still have to go to that crappy lecture tonight?" She was referring to Weaver's punishment for anybody who was late too many times: to attend Northwestern University's medical lectures in their free time. And to report back with copious notes to prove you've been listening.   
  
"Yeah. Should be interesting." His tone held no enthusiasm.   
  
"So what time are you coming to get me?" She stubbed out the Marlboro and exhaled deeply. He held up six fingers, smiled and jogged away, towards the open arms of the glowing sun. Abby turned around and went back to embrace the smouldering ball of flame that was the ER.   
  
A/N: Not much of a cliffhanger, I know, next chapter up very soon!! 


	2. Living For The City

Title: Hotter Than July  
  
Rating: PG-13, but R later on...  
  
Disclaimer: The ER characters do not belong to me, neither do any products, song lyrics or literary quotations mentioned.  
  
Summary: Warm weather, flirtation and a few lessons to be learned. Luby. Sort of AU, sort of not.  
  
Spoilers: Some season 9 and maybe early 10 I guess.  
  
Reviews: A big thankyou to all my reviewers so far. Stick with me, I have a lot more to come :)   
  
A/N: I wrote this a long time before we were ever treated to the brilliance of Hindsight, so you'll just have to bear with me and imagine for the purposes of this chapter that Luka has a new car that he loves just as much as the old one. :)  
  
  
  
The seatbelt fastened in place with an affirmative click. Abby closed her eyes momentarily. She was brought out of her trance as she was hit by a sheer wall of noise as Luka switched on the radio. She jolted violently in the seat as if he had just hit an eject button and sent her vaulting through the sunroof. Suddenly all too aware of her discomfort, he turned the radio down to a softer volume.   
  
Abby leant against the window thoughtfully. The sun was still gleaming brilliant light into the city, the temperature beginning to cool as evening set in.   
  
"Bad day?" He asked, putting on his sunglasses.  
  
"Not really. I just don't think this is the solution. If Weaver wants me to get up on time then she should buy me a new alarm clock."   
  
He laughed. "I agree with you on the first part, but.."  
  
She interrupted. "Yeah, it's my own fault. Sometimes it's just hard to be enthusiastic about an eleven hour shift."   
  
Luka contemplated this for a moment. "I know, I suppose it's better than sitting in an office all day, though."   
  
"People who work in offices don't have to remove foreign objects from people's butts." Abby replied sharply, still gazing out of the window.  
  
"They don't get to save people's lives either."   
  
"OK, that's 1-0 to you." They both laughed. Knowing she had been comprehensively beaten, Abby changed her mode of playful attack.  
  
"So, Luka, what's your excuse?"   
  
He turned quickly to look at her, puzzled. "For what?"  
  
"Being late?" She prompted, grinning.  
  
Pressing his foot on the accelerator he replied quickly, "I need a new alarm clock too."   
  
*****  
  
The drive was relatively short and pleasant, the weather easing off some of their grievances at an inconvenient evening. The university was a grey and black sprawl of buildings which seemed out of place in the light blue sky and gleaming sunshine. The contrast was a disturbing one, a place of such future importance should not have seemed so daunting. But Luka felt a strange aura as the edifice confronted him. He felt like it was waiting to teach him a lesson. Or perhaps he was just worrying about the car, parked a few streets away as there was no way he was going to leave it near the university. Pausing for a moment, he watched the heat haze rising in the air, shimmering with effervescence. Reality quickly caught up with him and he managed to remember his manners as he held the door, allowing Abby to pass through before him. A maze of signs, corridors and catatonic rushes of students exploded before them. Absorbing the chaos around her, Abby figured they should be at home in this madness.   
  
"You have any idea where we're going?" She asked, wanting to find some quiet.  
  
"Third floor. Room 35B. Stairs or elevator?"   
  
Abby let out a little smirk as she hit the button and the elevator swiftly arrived.   
  
Room 35B was strikingly deceptive. Despite having double doors, both were surprised to find a large lecture theatre open up in front of their eyes. It was already half-full, bustling with noise as the students chatted amongst themselves, awaiting the arrival of the lecturer. They made their way inconspicuously to the back, sitting temptingly close to the exit. While Luka stretched uncomfortably and undid another shirt button, Abby scanned the room, examining the students. Most were fairly young, with a few exceptions.   
  
Her observations were interrupted by the arrival of the lecturer, a short, thin man. Dressed in a blue suit and wearing a cravat, he looked as if he had just stepped out of the set of Quincy. Maybe he is Quincy, Abby thought with a little smile. Anything to make this complete waste of time a little more bearable. At least you're not alone, she thought. Luka plucked a pen from his pocket, the artificial light flashing against its silver casing.   
  
The lecturer thumped his books onto the desk, then checked his microphone was clipped on and fully functional.   
  
"OK guys, as promised from last time, there's a treat for you all. If you'd all like to turn around and wave at Ed behind you, he'll start the procedures video running." All eyes momentarily shifted to the back of the room where behind a glass screen sat a middle-aged man who swiftly clicked buttons and the huge video screen roared into life. All eyes returned to the front.  
  
"Great. I forgot the popcorn, " Abby whispered, flatly.  
  
Luka shifted in his seat again, wishing he could've shrunk a few inches for a while. The film clicked into life, the lights were dimmed and a monotonous voice-over began to explain the thoracotomy.   
  
Moments later, the explicit pictures became too much for some of the novices, who began running for the nearest toilet. Meanwhile, Abby was recognising the symptoms of falling asleep. The noise in her ears became blissfully distant, her eyelids began to flicker and the air conditioning blew a cool, caressing air across her skin. Fighting the tiredness, she shifted abruptly upwards in her seat. Searching for something else to capture her attention, she leant slowly against Luka's shoulder, interested in what he had been writing for the past few minutes. Scattered on the paper were an array of doodles and what appeared to be his shopping list. She let out an audible sigh.   
  
"Can we go? This is pointless." She whispered in his ear.  
  
"And get into more trouble? I don't think so, Abby." He replied quietly, pressing the end of his pen harder into the paper.   
  
"You never know. You might enjoy the feel of Weaver's whip on your ass."   
  
Luka laughed hard, disguising his enjoyment by coughing violently into his hands. Turning to face her, he shrugged, then offered her his hand, rapidly sweeping her out of her seat, while getting to his feet, clutching pen and paper in the other hand. Luka was very convinced that he would lose his balance but managed to sort himself out and slowly followed Abby towards the heaven that was the exit. They stole away in silence, not a soul witnessing their departure from the dark theatre of dreams.   
  
Every university seemed to have its very own "Lung Cancer Alley," a doorway littered with students eagerly consuming what smelled like half the world's tobacco. Abby was surprised that instead of fuelling her temptation to smoke the acrid cloud of fumes irritating her eyes put her off. They dodged their way in out of the crowd like footballers in a swarming penalty box, eventually reaching the safety of the street. The air was slightly cooler now, the sun still blissfully unaware of its shimmering power. Slowly, they began the short walk to the car.   
  
"I must admit, I'm disappointed with your lecture notes."   
  
"Well, it's better than nothing." He said, optimistically.  
  
"I think "I was bored" is a waste of ink and paper, don't you?"   
  
Luka laughed. "Yeah, I guess so."  
  
When they finally reached the car, sunlight gleaming against the paintwork, both sharply realised that they would be going nowhere in a hurry. Although parking there had seemed to be a good idea at first, the traffic cop had obviously had other ideas and thus, Luka had earned a ticket and a wheel clamp for his troubles. Abby was tempted to laugh, dying to tell him "I told you so." She was surprised to find herself giving in to her instincts as the supplication was evident in Luka's eyes, as if he were asking her to do it.  
  
"Well, I did tell you not to park there." He shrugged, surprised that he was relatively unconcerned.   
  
"I'm sorry." Luka spoke sincerely, knowing they had a relatively long walk ahead of them. There was a moment of almost unbearable silence.  
  
Abby smiled. "You'll just have to be a gentleman and walk me home, then."   
  
Without argument, they headed for the bustling heart of the city.   
  
The streets were full, racing with the vivacity of a rainbow, colours unfurling like an acid trip. People, whether together or apart, floated in and out of the crowds like a miasma, everybody seemingly oblivious of everybody else's life, problems or troubles. In fact, it was such a perfect evening, the sun dancing high in the sky, a lush, cool breeze hanging in the air, it appeared impossible that people could have any troubles.   
  
"I'm sorry," Luka repeated, beginning to feel a little tiredness tugging at his limbs, wishing he didn't have to walk.  
  
"It's OK. Besides, I haven't talked to you properly for a couple of weeks. What have you been up to?" Abby asked gently, turning to look at him.  
  
"Not much." Abby rolled her eyes, half-expecting such a vague answer. She knew she'd have to work on this one.  
  
"You know the saying."   
  
"Do I?" Luka asked , instantly intrigued by the riddle.  
  
"The devil finds work for idle hands."   
  
He laughed. "Nothing like that. Working, reading, getting beaten at Pictionary."  
  
"Still?" She asked, bemused, then added, "You should get Operation. If your friends beat you at that, then.."  
  
"I'm in trouble. I'll think about it."   
  
The flow of people and traffic twisted chaotically as they crossed a road laden with cars, trucks, buses and a wall of sound which cut a dark shadow through the utopia of the sunshine. Diesel fumes invaded the sticky air and the buzz of a thousand radios and voices mingled into a confusing disharmony. Summer in the city was both beautiful and destructively ugly. The pavement was a welcome haven from the chaos, despite the ongoing rush of people like blood burst from an artery, wildly spraying and scattering the summer streets.  
  
"So, what about you? Shouldn't you be out with Carter?" Luka asked, staring straight ahead, digging his fingers against the car keys in his pocket. Abby exhaled deeply and then let out a trademark sarcastic laugh. "That was over a while ago. I'm surprised you didn't hear about it." The walls in that hospital had ears, that was a pure certainty.  
  
"I've been busy," he replied, with a nonchalance that betrayed every ounce of his feelings. Seconds felt like minutes, time seemed to elapse painfully. Suddenly all too aware of his unfeeling tone, Luka continued. "I'm sorry. And I'm surprised. I thought he was in love with you."   
  
"They're just words." Abby replied sharply, although her words were tinged with a palpable sadness. Words which seemed so violently out of place in summer's rapturous reverie. Luka momentarily searched for words but knew there was no answer, and furthermore that silence often spoke louder volumes. Astonishment crept into his veins as he realised that he actually felt sorry for Carter. An emotion that he had not felt for a very long time. Yeah, like he really needs my pity, he thought. Still, nobody really deserved to have their feelings dismissed with such iciness. But as he was relatively oblivious to the situation, he let it drift away into the humid air.   
  
"You've been busy looking after Maria, haven't you?" Maria was seventeen and dying of leukaemia, but apart from the obvious symptoms, nobody would have ever known. Every person who met her agreed that she had a vivacity, an endearing quality that stretched far beyond her illness. She was not dying, she was alive. She smiled endlessly, joked about her unenviable position and sang constantly. Courageous was not the word, more like miraculous. Accepting your immediate fate was perhaps the most daunting task a human being could face, Maria had done so with considerable grace and without any indication of fear.   
  
"Yeah. But now that you mention it, sometimes it makes me feel a little guilty. Simply because her optimism is catching, I feel as if I'm just doing it to make myself feel better."   
  
Abby laughed at his humility, then added, "Trust me, you're doing it to make her feel better. Either that, or you're taking your pay home under false pretences."   
  
"It must be the first one, then." His conscience eased slightly, Luka gazed up speculatively at the sky.   
  
"I hope the weather stays the same." His tone was almost dream-like, as if he were momentarily astounded by nature's perfection.   
  
"You won't be saying that tomorrow to all the sunburnt old ladies and the annoyingly hyperactive kids." Abby was not trying to irritate him, but enjoyed putting a realistic spin on such a total image of faultlessness. The good weather did not make everything better. But it certainly helped.  
  
***** 


	3. Lost For Words

Title: Hotter Than July  
  
Rating: PG-13, but R later on...  
  
Disclaimer: The ER characters do not belong to me, neither do any products, song lyrics or literary quotations mentioned.  
  
Summary: Warm weather, flirtation and a few lessons to be learned. Luby. Sort of AU, sort of not.  
  
Spoilers: Some season 9 and maybe early 10 I guess.  
  
Reviews: Thankyou, and yes, keep 'em coming!!   
  
Author's note: The book and play referenced in this section are The Alchemist by Paulo Coelho and La Casa De Bernada Alba (The House Of Bernada Alba) by Federico García Lorca, but you need not read them, they are just tools to communicate ideas. I also have a strange feeling that I have unconsciously plagiarised a Romano quote from season 6. So sorry!!  
  
"We possess art lest we perish of the truth." Nietzsche, The Will To Power  
  
Irony is something of a double-edged sword. It can be something beautiful, something amusing, yet at the same time, something dark and achingly painful. Luka wondered which label was appropriate in this case as he observed Maria, bolt upright in what looked like a cold hospital bed, engrossed in The Alchemist. A book about dreams and finding your own destiny. An optimist's heaven, a pessimist's nightmare. Yet someone or something had so cruelly decided Maria's destiny for her. Irony in the basest, vilest sense. Yet, on the other hand, perhaps it was comforting to read such an uplifting and hopeful novel. Knowing her fairly well, as most of the staff in this hospital did, he was sure it was distracting her from any of the dark, self-pitying thoughts that could well have crossed her mind.   
  
The sun was once again beaming in, splitting into dark shadows through the half-drawn blind. It was not hot or cold in the room and the only sound was in the distance. Maria reached a point, then slid a piece of paper that acted as her bookmark silently between the pages. Still holding the book, she spoke quietly, interrupting Luka who was meticulously examining her chart.  
  
"What are you reading at the moment?" Her accent was broken slowly with Hispanic tones, her grandfather had left Madrid many, many years ago.  
  
He glanced up, quickly fixing his gaze on her. "Lorca." He replied succinctly, suspecting Maria would need little explanation. He had been attempting to learn a little Spanish, as so many people in the city seemed to speak it. A good way to learn a new language was through literature and music. So it was Lorca and Enrique Iglesias all the way.   
  
"Bernada Alba?" She asked, knowing this was one of the dramatist's best known works. He nodded. "In Spanish or English?" Maria pressed on, showing the resolve that had made her battle with illness seem so effortless.  
  
"Spanish," he replied.   
  
"Why not the translation? I assure you it's very good." Her tone was bright and encouraging.  
  
  
  
"Something is always lost in translation," Luka replied with a little sadness. Then it struck him that he could have just reflected on his whole life in America. It sent a rush of despondency into his veins but his thoughts were gladly interrupted by Gallant peering around the door.   
  
"I'm sorry to interrupt but Dr Romano is asking for you."   
  
Luka nodded an apology Maria's way and then followed the young man out of the door.  
  
"You shouldn't be his messenger." It was such a waste of the young student's time.   
  
"Everybody is Dr Romano's messenger," Gallant replied, with a surprising optimism, "But thanks anyway."   
  
As if his ears were burning, Romano appeared, looking as stoic and serious as ever. He took a long, piercing stare through the window, then said quickly,  
  
"Well, Luka, I'm glad to see you're keeping the teenage fan base amused."   
  
Romano expected no reply and was not going to get one.   
  
"Anyway, I'll get straight to the point. The bunch of incompetent deadbeats down here that, frankly, wouldn't know what an MD was if it bit them on the ass are bailing one by one with flu. So lucky you gets to work til 2am."   
  
It was 9:35 in the morning.   
  
"I really hope you're joking," Luka replied, taking a long look at his watch.  
  
"Am I wearing a red nose and baggy pants?" "Thank you." With that, the little surgeon walked slowly away, disappearing along the corridor with a patronising pace. It was going to be a very long day.   
  
*****  
  
"I am a barbarian in this place because I am not understood by anyone." Ovid  
  
The night sky sprawled out like a thick, dark blanket and a little warmth hung in the still air which in contrast, always seemed to whistle past up on the rooftop. The colours above amalgamated above, the darkness merged with the milky orange of light pollution, leaving a scant dash of visible stars. There were faint noises in the background, traffic, voices, music yet all so indistinguishable. Luka took a little time to absorb his surroundings. Still, he was powerless to stop thoughts careering in his head like a through train. Despite the fact that it was now gone eleven and he knew that he was surviving on something more powerful than adrenaline yet bordering on sheer exhaustion, tiredness shot the questions into his aching mind like a trace of bullets. His earlier words to Maria lingered like a ghost. The volatile blend of his physical and mental states left him with so much to ponder.   
  
Perhaps it was time to pack it in and get an office job, with the sweet paradise of whole weekends off and regular hours. He was interrupted as a fighter jet began to rush across the Chicago skyline. Its afterburners spread a threatening glow across the blackness, then it shot out over Lake Michigan like a deadly arrow. Suddenly Luka remembered his school history lessons and the teacher bringing in a huge map of the USA. As if they believed nobody knew where America was, as if it were mystical, an imaginary place of dreams and cowboys. He did not, at this moment, want to think about ideas of countries, or divided countries. Tell me about it, he thought, momentarily closing his eyes to shut out thoughts of home. Wherever that was. Vehemently flicking the "off" switch on those thoughts, he reverted back to his career musings.   
  
What other options were possible? Go into private practice and become a rich man by prescribing Viagra to all the horny old men. Maybe not, he thought, with a genuine smile and a laugh to himself.   
  
"Having impure thoughts about Romano? It happens to all of us."   
  
Abby's voice violently shook him out of his reverie, he had heard no approaching steps. The mind was certainly a powerful thing, he had been transported deep into the spirals of his consciousness. He did not turn around to face her, but nonetheless replied. "Romano is the reason I'm not drifting peacefully in and out of sleep. So my thoughts about him are malicious, not salacious." "Not that they ever are salacious," he affirmed, with another laugh.   
  
"Sometimes I think you should just pick him up and put him in your pocket." She joined him, placing her palms flat against the cold concrete before assessing the twilight with an acerbic glance.   
  
"So he can annoy me all day? I don't think so." Luka spoke with little amusement this time, feeling his fatigue slowly turn to languor, knowing now that any attempt to sleep in the next few hours would be completely futile.   
  
Abby's purpose became evident as she struck a match against the wall. The intense chemical reaction sent fizzles and crackles into the silent air along with a sharp glow of light and the tantalising aroma of sulphur. She lit the end of her cigarette with admirable caution then discarded the match over the side, its flame swiftly extinguished in an unnatural gust of wind.   
  
"Did someone send you to chase my shadow?" In his peripheral vision, Luka caught a glimpse of the glowing tip of the cigarette and found himself reminded of the jet. Deadly, but in a different sort of way.   
  
"Somebody's gotta do it." She said, lightly, almost voiding all meaning from her words, then continued. "You've picked the right time to be hiding up here. It's as dead as a freaking corpse down there."   
  
The pun was ungracious yet he was pleasantly amused, feeling another smile dissipate his pensive mood. Dark humour was often the only humour associated with this place.  
  
Abby took a longer drag and then felt the smoke weighing down on her lungs. It was not a sensation she experienced often but when she did it was a sharp reminder that she should attempt to quit. Feeling greatly relieved as she exhaled the bluey-grey stream of smoke she turned momentarily to look at him. Melancholy was deep-set in his gaze. Yet it was not unattractive, in fact, his sadness often had an endearing effect, she concluded. She rapidly reminded herself that the dejection was not always there as it had seemed to be before. In fact, she was certain that of late, a radiance had been etched onto his retinas which appeared almost out of place. It further added to the deep enigma that he continued to be. Abby considered that someone or something could have lit the blackened touchpaper of his soul, the fire within that she was sure had once been prevalent had been lit again. She would find out somehow. Even though in her mind she linked Luka, not unkindly, to a cryptic crossword. Frustrating, but in a good way. Desperate now to stop her fluctuating thoughts, she leant on the ledge and spoke.  
  
"I take it you're having a bad day, then." Her tone held no mockery or sympathy. Sometimes, she surprised herself how sometimes her words were so distant from her feelings. But on other rare occasions, both word and sensation were as tightly connected as links in a chain.  
  
"Just a very long day. With little escape from my thoughts. Not a very good combination." As usual, his words gave little room for manoeuvre, there was so much yet so little to speculate on. He did not wish to theorise on his feelings out loud because he was still battling with the internal struggle.   
  
Exhaling a sigh which purged a little of the confusion from his veins, he found the only few words that possessed any sort of definitive clarity. An apology.   
  
"I'm sorry. You don't need to hear this."   
  
You'd be surprised, Abby thought, flicking the ash away with an almost eloquent gesture. Although she was barely half way through her smoke, she happily ground the ash violently into the concrete, watching the fire smoulder into nothing.   
  
"Don't worry about it. You just need to get some sleep." This time, her words were brushed with a shimmer of concern and she had found some warmth in the unyielding depths of the night. The silence was then pierced by his pager. With a wry smile, Luka turned to face her and said, without any hint of seriousness or sadness, "It looks as if the corpses have awoken."   
  
She flashed a sincere smile, then replied. "I wouldn't sound so concerned, you know, you're the living dead's favourite doctor."   
  
Lost for words, he headed for the door feeling decidedly better, leaving Abby in the same predicament as he had found himself in moments before. But at least she was smiling. 


	4. Mad World

Title: Hotter Than July  
  
Rating: PG-13, but R later on...  
  
Disclaimer: The ER characters do not belong to me, neither do any products, song lyrics or literary quotations mentioned.  
  
Summary: Warm weather, flirtation and a few lessons to be learned. Luby. Sort of AU, sort of not.  
  
Spoilers: Some season 9 and maybe early 10 I guess.  
  
Reviews: Thankyou once again to all my readers, I appreciate you taking the time to read my work. Keep those reviews comin' :)  
  
Sometimes, in a hedonistic manner, the world passes you by without a trace. Especially when the weather is spectacularly good, as it had been for what seemed like an eternity. The cold caress of cotton sheets against a burning hot body was a wondrous contrast which Luka relished until he finally dragged himself out of bed. He was going to be late but once again, indifference had got the better of the tug of war in his head. So he was in no rush. Send me to your stupid lectures all day, he thought, gazing out of his window, his pupils dilating with a bolt of tranquillity. Sunshine was like injections of optimism but the long days also left so much space for contemplation, which could lead anybody's thoughts off into a plethora of emotions. Gladly, he found a distraction in the day's current affairs as he scanned the newspaper while sipping casually from a can of Coke as it was far too hot for coffee.   
  
"If it isn't the dead man sitting. Weaver is after you and she's taking it out on me, as usual." Susan joined him in the crowded Doc Magoo's which was bustling with people eager for their breakfast. Along with the general commotion, "Walking On Sunshine" by Katrina and the Waves blared from the sound system. Susan's tone had been neither angry nor frustrated but Luka took the opportunity to ask some questions, avoiding the general issue of his misbehaviour.  
  
"You really don't get on with her, do you?" He asked plainly, finally gazing up from the broadsheet.  
  
"Not really. It's a long story." Her mind cast back to those early years of rivalry and bitchiness.  
  
"Indulge me. I have all the time in the world," Luka replied, radiating as much vivacity as the atmosphere itself. Susan laughed aloud, catching the glint of mischief in his eyes. "You're having one of those "I don't care" career moments, aren't you?"   
  
"Is it that obvious?"   
  
"To somebody who's been there, absolutely. It'll pass, they always do." He turned the page and drank again, his eyes darting rapidly as he scanned for anything that may be of interest.   
  
"You see, that's why Weaver is so high-maintenance. She never has those lapses." This observation seemed tainted with a little sadness, perhaps even envy. Susan quickly reminded herself that she was not envious at all.  
  
"She's not the bionic woman, she must do. Unless we're the strange ones."   
  
Interested in where this was going, his attention wavered from the news.   
  
"We must fall prey to the distractions of our social lives." Luka was unsure whether she was taking the piss or indicating that their boss had no social life. Or perhaps it was both. Who knows? Susan too felt a little bewildered as she realised that in many ways, Luka was still as elusive as the day she had met him, so she asked, "What do you do when you're not working?"   
  
He momentarily shifted in his seat then let out a little smile. "My friends exploit me with their complicated board games, drink all my beer and use my apartment as a walk-in cinema."   
  
She smiled enigmatically. "But you wouldn't want it to change, would you?"   
  
"Maybe not," Luka replied, as wonderfully ambiguous as ever.  
  
Eyeing the last drop of the caramel coloured liquid in the bottom of the can, he finished his drink and carefully folded the newspaper like a worn-out commuter. "I guess I'd better go and get my punishment."   
  
"Good luck, I'll be thinking of you," Susan said amicably, knowing what it was like to be on the receiving end of Weaver's wrath.  
  
With that, he made the short journey towards his castigation, just as a prisoner is lead down to the cells. When he arrived, Susan had been right, Weaver was after his blood.  
  
"I'll get straight to the point. Your lateness is unacceptable. You're fully aware of the current penalty. If you're going to waste my time then I'll waste yours. And this time I want to see the notes as well. You can check the schedules for yourself." After facing the torrent, he nodded, feeling like a schoolboy being chastised by the headmistress. "Is that all?..Because I should..." Suddenly, mid-sentence, Luka wondered if he was being a little audacious and chose to keep his mouth shut. Not very much would be able to break up his strangely good mood. Not even if the sun disappeared from the sky and the heavens opened and it rained until December.  
  
"No. You can take Abby with you as well. It's a shame you're not dating anymore, then you could kick each other out of the damned bed," Weaver said dryly, raising her voice even more, evidently angered as if she believed her staff were beginning to conspire against her. Luka was humoured by the image and bit on his thumbnail to hide his smile. In fact, he was tempted to add, "But she would never kick me out of bed." Wisely, he held his tongue. He was curious at his boss's slight, pained amusement. Perhaps the sun had shone on her too.   
  
"Sort it out, Luka, I don't want to have to fire you."   
  
He nodded again, then said sincerely, "I appreciate it." Yet sincerity escaped him as he left the lounge with a wide grin. He was ready for whatever was about to be thrown at him. Deciding to pass on the bad news before it had any sort of a chance to eat away at him he spotted his co-conspirator in lateness.   
  
Abby's interest was instantly piqued by his bright, unassuming disposition, a very welcome tangent from her very unwelcoming paperwork.   
  
"It looks as if you enjoyed getting your butt smacked. I always thought you were a bit of a masochist." He laughed, then shook his head dismissively. "It's the weather."   
  
"Not the sex, drugs and rock and roll?" She continued, enjoying this game.   
  
"If only I had the time," Luka said, slightly caught in a frail reverie. "Which reminds me, we have to go to those lectures again. It seems as if once again, I'm not the only one who can't be bothered."   
  
She frowned, then smiled. "I spent half of yesterday morning swearing at my VCR after it chewed up three tapes. It was my own emergency, which seemed a little more important than anybody else's at the time. God, that's selfish," she said aloud, meaning to keep it to herself. Thoughts raced through her head, then she turned toward him with a smile, and spoke quietly. "Luka, if you're in such a good mood, then why didn't you tell Weaver to poke it up her ass?"   
  
Luka smiled, "I don't think it's any good for me to be that eloquent in English."   
  
"Fair enough," Abby shrugged, eventually returning to the array of pages stretched in front of her eyes. "You'll call me to let me know when we're going?" She asked seriously, suspecting that despite their outward disregard, somewhere inside they were both eager to atone for their mistakes.   
  
"Sure." I'd better look like I'm doing something, he thought. Deciding to chance his luck, he took a chart at random and examined only the room number and patient's name. Life would be boring without a few surprises.   
  
"I wouldn't if I were you. That kid has a set square lodged in one of his nostrils. Math has never been so dangerous." In issuing her warning, Abby had conceded that the world was genuinely crazy today. But in a positive, stirring way. "It could be worse." Luka spoke while searching for his pen which had eluded him as well as pessimism had.  
  
"You're right. He could have a compass stuck up his..."  
  
She did not need to finish the sentence.  
  
After locating his pen and finding that the child, Chad, did in fact have a mathematical instrument firmly stuck inside his nose, Luka wondered how the hell it was ever going to come out again and more worryingly, how it got there in the first place. 


	5. Universally Speaking

Title: Hotter Than July  
  
Rating: PG-13, but R later on...  
  
Disclaimer: The ER characters do not belong to me, neither do any products, song lyrics or literary quotations mentioned.  
  
Summary: Warm weather, flirtation and a few lessons to be learned. Luby. Sort of AU, sort of not.  
  
Reviews: Please R&R, I really hope this bit makes sense!!  
  
Author's Note: Book referenced here is Fiesta (The Sun Also Rises) by Ernest Hemingway. OK, so I get a bit philosophical here, so please reassure me that it makes sense, it's quite simple really!! And yes, my strange fascination with Quincy ME shows through here. It's a sickness. I'm getting treatment LOL!  
  
  
  
Trains are funny things, indifferent to their passengers, their driver and the chaos that can often surround them. They are not indifferent to the weather, especially in winter, but when the El grinds to a halt in summer, questions must be asked. It was mid-afternoon so there were no commuters, just parents and children taking advantage of the school holidays, who were becoming over-excited thanks to the delay. Like the train, Luka was indifferent, floating away on a cloud of literary enthralment as he leant against the doors, engrossed in Hemingway's Fiesta. His white shirt was being made ever more translucent by the iridescent lighting, the sun glinting violently off of his gold necklace. Sounds, movements, thoughts, feelings eluded him.   
  
  
  
Abby, standing opposite, momentarily closed her eyes in a silent prayer. If there was one thing she could not bear, it was trains that did not move. When you were moving, you were getting somewhere, when you were still, and without change, you were stuck. Your destination was painfully elusive. You cannot go back nor forward, the frustration seemed never-ending. Sighing, she opened her eyes quickly, as if she had been shot through with an arrow of awakening. Just as her eyes opened, the train jolted forwards and they were moving again. God had obviously decided to stop toying with Chicago's transport system. She was not worried that her companion was so seemingly fixated on his literature. Abby concluded that it was not that Luka did not wish to talk to her, but that he was obviously enjoying his latest read. After all, time was precious for people in their profession, and who had the time to read these days?   
  
  
  
Even so, something inside her needed to know that she was more able to capture his attention than mere fiction. As egotistical as it may have sounded, of late he possessed even more magnetism than ever before. A magnetism to which she was helplessly attracted. It was not magnetic sadness, but its antithesis: a burning vigour, a flame of exuberance. Perhaps this had been his manner before his world caved in. Who am I to make those assumptions? She thought sadly, feeling as if, once again, things had stopped still and she had been caught in that exasperating limbo between the present, the past and the future. As despite the fact that Luka's outward appearance seemed to be one of a positive nature, she was still left with no idea why. All that she knew was that his enigma was still immensely powerful and that she was determined, this time, to get a better insight into just for what reason. If only things were that simple.  
  
  
  
Tired of her thoughts, she decided to reach out and communicate.  
  
"Did you get that thing out of the kid's nose the other day?" As he immediately closed the book and gave her his full attention, Abby felt a rush of contentment which shifted her thoughts all over the place, displacing all of her wonderment for a few seconds. Who cares why?   
  
"Yeah. It's a shame they didn't teach him anything about symmetry. Two would have been a bit of a challenge."   
  
She smiled, then added, "Did it come out at exactly forty-five degrees?"   
  
Luka smiled and shook his head. "Those things are inaccurate the world over. Useless in every sense of the word." This took him back to painful memories of maths classes. Learning how to add up was practical, but he had yet to find a use for trigonometry or equations in his everyday life.   
  
  
  
Five minutes later and they had rattled into the nearest station to the university, public transport something of a necessity this time around in order to avoid any more costly parking mishaps. On such a balmy, almost tropical afternoon, Luka concluded that even before the futile lectures, he had perhaps already learnt his lesson as he would've liked to sit out in the sun reading the paper, rather than being here. So he would promptly invest in an alarm clock with digital display, world time, multi alarms etc. He was sure there was even one with a CD player that played your favourite CD to wake you up. That sounded like a good idea. Anything to get him out of bed. In spite of his recent apathy, he still loved his job very much and didn't want to lose it. That would be one step too far. The pre-evening sky was a rich blue, dotted with a few clouds, ultraviolet searing through the atmosphere as the heatwave continued. Once again the university building was a cold, grey slab of ugliness which seemed even more unsightly in the mirror of summer's perfection.   
  
  
  
"Are we going to the same place as before?" It was just over a week since their last visit, and Abby was hoping that this one would be just as short.   
  
Her question injected a firm twist of determination into him, as he replied resolutely. "Abby, I'm not going to sit in there and listen to things that I already know. That won't teach me anything. This is, after all, an institution of learning. So let's go and learn something." Luka was not angry, he had been captured by tenacity. Abby, ever ready to be the realist and bring him back down to earth with a resounding thud, rolled her eyes and spoke just as persistently. "What about the notes?"   
  
He gazed at her incredulously for a moment, perplexed that she was challenging his notions. It already made sense in his recent rebellious mentality. Rapidly switching tactics, Luka found the answer more quickly than he had expected.   
  
"We'll make it up. Never underestimate the power of fiction. Besides, I've always wanted to write a thesis entitled: Medicine vs Maths: the awful truth."   
  
Abby felt a smile creeping up on her as a ghost dancing through the shadows. She did not really want to give in, but she knew that deep inside, she agreed with him completely. Why waste your time going over things you already knew when you could take the opportunity to learn something new?  
  
"Let's go inside before the sun really starts to affect your head." Accepting defeat had never felt so good.   
  
Inside, there was little of the chaos they had observed last time. Corridors were as empty as the last train home, the air was unvibrated by any speech, it almost seemed as if learning had taken the form of silent contemplation. This was a palpable sign that lectures had already begun. Cautiously eyeing the schedule pinned to a pristine notice board, Luka felt the inane thrill of destruction as he gently tugged it from the Blu-Tak that adhered it to the wall.   
  
"Take your pick." Abby scanned the list rapidly, aware that they should make haste as it was evident that the lessons had begun, else the place would be littered with students elated that their grilling was over for the day.  
  
Film studies, Hispanic culture, Philosophy, Investigating the Self...... Investigating the self?? That sounds interesting, she thought, slightly aware of the sexual undertones. Finally, a course caught her eye: Tragedy in literature: and why we need it. OK, so the undertones of that were completely masochistic. Perfect, she thought. Room 12A, in five minutes.   
  
Lecture theatre 12A was vigorous with noise, almost teeming with anticipation. It had no video screen but a real feel of humanity as one wall had a huge window which looked out over a lush garden at the heart of the buildings. Rays of light sliced their way across the seats, rich shadows formed on whitewashed walls. No stark electric lighting was needed to illuminate the students and their writing, nature had taken this into its own hands with continual beams being pumped into the expanse of the room. The lecturer arrived in perfect time, a woman who looked as if she had barely graduated herself. She was carrying a few papers while jostling with the jet of brown hair which shot out of her head like a fountain. Luka put his book on the long bench in front of him which acted as the writing desk for the students, then dug his elbow into it and rested his palm thoughtfully against his cheek. If he was going to be uncomfortable then at least he could do it while paying attention.   
  
A buzz of sound continued to permeate through the air, the summer obviously acting as an even more powerful catalyst as the students' chatter was almost of epic proportions, a raking of decibels against the eardrums, a disharmonious rant. Sensing the chaos in front of her, the lecturer stood, arms folded protectively and assessed her students for the day. Her calm seemed to heighten their perceptiveness, so much so that once they had realised they were being scrutinised so carefully, silence eventually prevailed.   
  
"Hi everyone. I'm Elena and I'm here to present the first of my three lectures on tragedy in literature and why it is so essential." Abby noted that the woman had a British accent very much unlike Dr Corday's, it was less harsh, less polished and the young woman seemed at ease speaking to this disorganised rabble.   
  
"I'll be blunt and get straight to the point. I was a student not so long ago so I know that you won't have done all the reading, I also know that people in my position have a tendency to make things more complicated or talk for hours about irrelevant matters just to perpetuate themselves." This brought a trickle of laughter from Elena's audience, they knew she could relate to them.  
  
"So. I'll get straight to the heart of my theories."   
  
"Let's start with something we all know. Anyone care to tell me why Romeo & Juliet is such a classic? And if anyone mentions Leonardo di Caprio then I'm leaving straight away."   
  
Laughter was followed by silence, then a young man in the front row decided to chance his luck.   
  
"Because everybody can relate to it. Everyone knows what it's like to be young and in love." Yeah, but we didn't all try and kill ourselves when things with the parents got a little messy, Abby thought, with fond memories of Othello and Macbeth. Now that was tragedy, with sex, lies and deception thrown in for good measure. Romeo and Juliet was a mere starting point, the poor man's Shakespeare. But, she conceded, it was a good starting point, as the legion of students in front of them were now writing busily.   
  
"Empathy comes in to it. It's just human nature. That, in essence, is the key to most stories. Being able to put ourselves in the place of the main protagonists. But this was going on long before Shakespeare, of course. And we have to ask ourselves why we do it, why we should want to imagine ourselves in such perilous situations."   
  
  
  
Contemplative silence thickened the air. No-one spoke, no-one moved, not even the sun turned to cast a different shadow against the walls. Luka closed his eyes momentarily, knowing that there were thousands of answers to the question that had been posed. But he also knew that the woman was being paid to give her opinion and thus, it would probably be easier to speculate on her theory rather than attempting to make immediate sense of his own ones. As he opened them again, sunlight grazed against his pupils so he shifted slightly to deflect the rays away from his eyes.   
  
  
  
"Here's the guy who had the answer." As if by magic, the young woman clicked a switch and onto the bare wall was projected a sharp black and white image. "Mr Nietzsche, German philosopher. Now, I see a lot of myself in this man. He took lectures, he went insane." Her audience were once again enjoying themselves. "Anyway, in his first book, The Birth Of Tragedy, he suggested that Greek tragedy was written so that the Ancient Greeks could come to terms with bad things in their own lives." She paused once more, then continued. "But just before you all start shouting "bullshit" at me, let me ask you a few questions. Anybody here who doesn't have a TV?"   
  
A ripple of sarcastic, unbelieving, almost caustic chuckling burst forth from the students, as if to say, yeah, right.   
  
"Right. Anybody who doesn't own CDs?" No hands were raised.   
  
"I assume you're all avid fans of reading, if not, then you're on the wrong course, so get out while those suckers in the admissions office can still handle the paperwork." Now for the conclusion.   
  
  
  
"And what are all the songs, TV shows and books for? To leave all the bullshit behind, to come to terms with all the unbearable in life, to give us somewhere to escape to. So Nietzsche may have gone insane, but his ideas weren't so crazy." "And just to prove that too, I'm finishing dead on time so you guys can all go home and catch tonight's episode of The Bold And The Beautiful."   
  
  
  
Luka smiled, feeling a little of the empathy that she had described, wondering why those crazy soap opears were so popular. There was no applause and they all left swiftly, as if this moment in time had been a catalyst for something more pressing, more urgent, more exciting for all of them to await in the future. Yet all were left with the young woman's thoughts lingering like a rich sediment finally discovered in the dark depths of a bottle.   
  
  
  
Journeys home always seemed to take much longer, even if the amount of time taken was precisely the same; even if the survival instinct of finding home was thriving in the veins. Abby was concerned at feeling so distinctly awake, light gleaming in her eyes, sounds stereo clear in her ears, arrows of thought darting in her mind. She did not crave the beauty of sleep, the lucidity of dreams, the precious escapism of the subconscious. Which made a pleasant change. The pavement appeared to pass beneath her feet like a rich silken carpet, wisps of cloud in the sky were like gentle threads connecting her thoughts. Now it was time to expand on them. Or perhaps to attempt to dispel the cynicism that always seemed to creep up on her. But then, with her life's experiences, she considered, it was perhaps better to be a cynic than a dreamer. Because every time she imagined something would go right, things had a habit of taking an unpredicted U-turn and she was left facing the other direction with all that was cynicism smiling wickedly in her eyes. Time to strive for a change.   
  
  
  
"Do you have a favourite TV show?" She asked this question with an alarming amount of caution, which surprised her.   
  
"Yeah," "I think so." "I always enjoy Quincy." Luka replied in all seriousness.  
  
"Quincy?" Abby was amused and astounded, her face a picture of utter disbelief. "Why the hell do you watch that?" Am I actually having this conversation? She wondered, half believing she would wake up in a tangle of sheets with a smile on her face.   
  
"I see a lot of myself in Quincy. He lived on a boat, had a string of beautiful girlfriends...but he does have one big advantage..." His tone indicated he wasn't taking this so seriously now.   
  
"Which is?" She couldn't wait to hear this one.  
  
"All of his patients are already dead."   
  
  
  
Abby laughed, pushing her hair out of her eyes, feeling a little frustrated. So much for having some sort of serious conversation. She berated herself for becoming peppered with agitation as she surveyed her surroundings, the tempestuous dry heat mixing with a rush of people. A little over three months ago it had been snowing. From Siberia to the Seychelles in three easy months. The world is going crazy, she affirmed.  
  
"So, let me get this straight. Watching some old guy pretending to do autopsies makes you feel better at the end of a long day." The utter confusion seeped through her arteries like fine rain, making her feel as if she was searching in the dark. If she even knew what she was looking for in the first place. Luka frowned slightly, wondering where all the questions were being fired from, not wanting to be caught without a reasonable answer. Then again, he didn't want to be the guy who had all the answers.  
  
"It's something else to think about. Rather than what you did, what you didn't do and what you could've done." He hadn't expected to put it so plainly. Evidently, this also troubled Abby as she said blankly, "But it isn't that simple."   
  
"Why not? The woman was right. We all watch TV or read a book, or listen to music."   
  
Now the turmoil was warming her blood, the weather intensifying the sensation, prickling her skin, she was roasting inside and out. "Because, Luka, life is shitty and it hurts. You know it, I know it, every damn body knows it. How can something so complicated be resolved by something so simple?" She had not meant to speak her final sentence but it trickled out of her mouth like a gushing waterfall, purging the angst from deep inside her body. Avoiding Luka's assessing gaze, she eyeballed the sky furiously, questioning whatever or whoever was up there. She did not care where the answer came from anymore.   
  
  
  
"I'm not going to argue with you." After all, Luka concluded, if life was a poker game then they had both been dealt some pretty awful hands and were still in search of the elusive royal flush. "But if we all sat down thinking about it all the time then we'd all go crazy. Not everything has to be so...complex. But then again, a little complexity can be interesting. Simplicity would bore us all to tears."   
  
Shit, these Europeans like their philosophy, Abby thought to herself, still wracked with puzzlement. "Well, bore me with a little simplicity by explaining exactly what you mean." She paused, considering that she was now beginning to sound more aggrieved, maybe even desperate. "Please."   
  
"You're right, life isn't easy. Yet if it was a fairy tale, it'd get boring. Like if there was only...one flavour of ice cream." OK, he conceded, it wasn't the best example but he had finally discovered why Ben and Jerry make so much money.   
  
  
  
Their conversation seemed to make everything else trivial, their journey seemed programmed, effortless and timeless. Home seemed close yet faraway and neither knew when or where this spiral of thought would end.  
  
"Just where is your new philosophy on life coming from?"   
  
"Like I told you, it's the weather." "Amongst other things..." His trailing voice threw up a mist of possibilities.   
  
A clue, she thought, feeling a little more triumphant now.  
  
"Such as?" She asked, with a tempting grin. Sometimes teasing it out of him was the only way to go. Although part of her did not expect a definite answer. After all, this was Luka, man of mystery. She smiled at the cartoon character image in her head.   
  
"Some good memories. And endless reruns of Quincy."   
  
This time, Abby's smile was wry as she realised that he had placated her troubles without even trying. How the hell did you do that? It was as if he had taken her grievances, torn them into insignificant shreds of paper and let them flutter away in a gust of wind. That was more than enough to ask of him. For now. 


	6. Until Tomorrow

Title: Hotter Than July  
  
Rating: PG-13, but R later on...  
  
Disclaimer: The ER characters do not belong to me, neither do any products, song lyrics or literary quotations mentioned.  
  
Summary: Warm weather, flirtation and a few lessons to be learned. Luby. Sort of AU, sort of not.  
  
Reviews: Please R&R, I feel this is my best chapter so far and would love to know what you think of it, and thankyou once again for all of your kind words so far.   
  
Author's Note: Apologies for any medical inaccuracies in this part as I have no time to research but I have used my artistic licence to successfully escape any impossibilities. I hope! :) For your information, Davor Suker is one of Croatia's most famous soccer players, I think he still plays somewhere in Europe, but is getting on in soccer-playing terms!!   
  
"Death lies on her like an untimely frost upon the sweetest flower of all the field." (Romeo & Juliet: Act Four, Scene Four lines 55-56)  
  
Three days later and the temperature was pushing ninety degrees. Heat like this in the Windy City seemed alarmingly unnatural. It was only a few degrees hotter and it felt like the air would erupt into the beauty of flames, shattering bursts of deep red and orange into the ether. Luka had only known weather like this once before, on a summer trip to Madrid many years ago. He had gone to watch Davor Suker lead Real's front line and had not been disappointed by the tumultuous atmosphere of the Bernabéu stadium. Sometimes work was not unlike the Bernabéu stadium before a match against Barcelona: chaotic, feverish, numb with rivalry and excitement. He noted with a tinge of sadness that he was actually not there to work, he was here to see how Maria was doing.  
  
Almost everybody, at some point, despite their crazy schedules had been to keep the young woman company, such was her vibrancy. Although this week their task had been crudely nicknamed "death-watch," as they were almost certain that this week her illness would finally get the better of her. Maria had insisted that her relatives should not be present for her final hours. She wanted them to remember her living, breathing, laughing, fighting rather than finally losing her battle. But procedures, bureaucracy and other trivial small print meant that someone always had to be in attendance.   
  
Deciding it was time to be casual he yanked his shirt out of the waistband of his trousers and felt the blissful rush of air against his skin as he climbed the stairs to the ward. He was pleased to see that keeping the latest vigil was Gallant. In the mass of unfamiliarity which often swamped the heaving walls of this institution, it was always good to see a familiar face. Some sort of sanity in such a sea of anarchy. The young student came to meet him at the door, dressed in a T-shirt and shorts. Despite the outward energy, Luka could clearly see that he was exhausted. He knew all too well himself that it took time for your body to adjust to such a rigorous schedule.   
  
"That girl's energy is amazing. Almost superhuman." Gallant observed in wonder as he stared back through the window.   
  
"It seems to be taking its toll on you." Luka said, slowly.  
  
"That's a diplomatic way of telling me I look like hell, isn't it?"  
  
"We have a way with words on the other side of the world."   
  
Gallant smiled, then said a firm, quick goodbye before leaving Luka alone and very aware of it in the vast corridor. Feeling slightly alien in the immense, vacuous space, he went into the room. It was refreshingly cool, yet filtrated with a vibrant mood. To Luka this almost seemed perverse: after all, the girl was dying. Yet she seemed to charge her surroundings with positive ions, radiating beams like the unforgiving sun which burnt so very vividly today.   
  
"I see you've drawn the short straw this time." Maria said, her cracking voice the only evident sign of her weakness.  
  
"Not at all. Where would I get all my book tips from?" His tone was light, compassionate.   
  
"Give me a pen and I'll write you a list." Her steely determination touched him as the pen shuddered violently in her hand, her body plagued by both illness and treatment. At this stage it was impossible to tell whether the drugs or her condition were making her feel worse.   
  
Slowly, with such precise caution, he reached out and took hold of her wrist and felt her pulse. Blood was stirring slowly through her tortured veins. She would not be fighting for too much longer, Luka theorised sadly, watching shadows dance across the wall.   
  
"Have you done all the things you wanted to?" It sounded so final, so damning, so unbelievably heartbreaking but he knew she had made plans a long time ago to do some things before she passed away.   
  
She nodded with a charismatic smile. "Yes. Apart from one thing. I always wanted to go into space. Not to be an astronaut, but to see the world from up there. As one. That's the way it should be." Maria paused, then added with a wan smile, "That probably sounds naïve to you."   
  
Luka shook his head. "No, I think that's a wonderful image."   
  
He leant back slightly in his chair and thought about it, about space. You wouldn't get me up there, he decided. Although he had faced some perilous situations in his life, the expanse of the constellations seemed a little too dangerous. Besides, it was nice to watch the stars from the spinning axis of Earth. Even if down here people were ultimately divided. Realising that he was still gripping her wrist, still feeling her slow, laboured pulse like the beat of a bass drum, he slowly let his grasp slide away. Just as hope seemed to be slipping away from Maria's quest to battle on.  
  
An hour later and the sun was at its peak, yet this room seemed so wonderfully escapist, so unreal but brimming with the harsh realities of life. Sometimes people die and nothing can be done to save them. Even though Luka knew this situation rendered him utterly powerless, he did not feel bitter about it. It was tragic, it was a waste, such a waste of a rich youthful life, yet to be enriched by the mysteries of adulthood. Ambiguity struck him full in the face as with a shock he realised that perhaps missing your older years was not such a bad thing. No worries about ageing, relationships, tax forms or life insurance. Maria's rasping tone interrupted his drifting mind.   
  
"Is it nice outside?" Reams of sunlight were scattered across the room.  
  
"It's very warm. Makes a change. A nice one." Changes were not all for the worse.  
  
Her breathing became infinitely shallow as pain and disease sucked evilly at her lungs, taking her oxygen and feeding off it for its own wicked gains. Here was the girl who envisaged the world as one yet she was being so cruelly invaded. Maria did not dare close her eyes. To close your eyes was to face the darkness; a darkness that she had not prepared herself for yet.   
  
"Will you take me outside? I want to see the sun."   
  
Luka suddenly imagined himself there in that bed, dying, at the mercy of whatever had decided to take her over. Knowing that he himself would rather feel the last rush of all that was life: sunlight, than the empty whiteness of the bed, he nodded slowly. Words were not needed to satisfy the dying girl's wish that he could not refuse. Feeling utterly mechanised, almost robotic, he offered her his hands as she struggled out of the sheets. Maria's pale skin was excruciatingly cold to touch, the warmth of life fading away. Even the IV drip hooked into her arm had been rendered useless, the rush of synthetic chemicals a blunt knife against the sharp blade of infection. It remained in her arm as a signal that nobody had given up just quite yet.   
  
Halfway down the stairs, Maria had been sapped of any energy she may have scarcely possessed, a reaction as violent as sticking a pin into a balloon.   
  
One moment you were sliding towards your mortality, the next you were facing the truth in an alarmingly rapid decline. As if all the tables had decided to turn in one fleeting step.   
  
  
  
It was then, behind the warm orbs of his grey eyes, that Luka realised the enormity of the situation. He was about to carry a dying young woman in his arms, past his colleagues, past the general public, all of whom would be bemused, maybe even unsettled by his plight. He was not about to be deterred. Some things are stronger than mere opinion. They already all think I'm the crazy foreigner. Still. Even more reason to do what the girl wanted and damn everybody else. Resilience was now warming within him as Maria got colder. When he eventually reached the ground floor, one arm under her shoulders, the other under her knees, the useless bag of fluid flung over his broad shoulders, he realised that it did not matter anymore. Despite the crowd and craziness that encompassed them, he could already see the clearly mapped path to the exit. To the elusive sun. All that was around them meshed into an incoherent blur, colours swirling into haze, sounds unclear and unimportant, everything else numbed, dead, paralysed, powerless. Eyes may have burned with critical, astounded gazes but they could not intervene the course that had been plotted.   
  
  
  
Maria's eyes were still wide, receiving flashes of light, every few seconds Luka checked to ensure she was still there, that their quest had not been in vain. Noise rushed past his ears in an uncomfortable dissonance, movement rushed past him like a whirling hurricane. Finally, after what felt like an eternity of steps, a lifetime's pilgrimage, they reached the desolate safety of outside. The heat bit with the malicious iciness of a cold winter's day, the sphere of the sun was there above them, almost grinning down triumphantly.  
  
In a swift, painful moment, Maria became feather light in his arms, as if she was signalling the end.  
  
"Hasta mañana," her voiced cracked, then her gaze was strikingly fixated as her soul slipped away from her tormented body. Until tomorrow, Luka thought sadly. But then he was comforted, still holding her there, frozen by the blinding warmth. Somehow, like the sun, Maria would still be there tomorrow. 


	7. Ray Of Light

Title: Hotter Than July  
  
Rating: PG-13, but R later on...  
  
Disclaimer: The ER characters do not belong to me, neither do any products, song lyrics or literary quotations mentioned.  
  
Summary: Warm weather, flirtation and a few lessons to be learned. Luby. Sort of AU, sort of not.  
  
Reviews: Please R&R, although I introduce one of my own characters, it's still 100% Luby. Let me know what ya think!  
  
Author's note: Song made reference to here is Sexiest Man In Jamaica by Mint Royale. BTW, seeing as I wrote this bit pre season 10, Secrets And Lies doctor criticising Abby is in full swing here :)  
  
I shouldn't be doing this, Abby thought. Which was strange considering at that moment she was doing absolutely nothing. She sat, meticulously examining her set of keys. They were the decider. Take them with you and go out or stay here with them. Or go out without them and get locked out, she added, with a futile smile; as futile as her current passage of thought. Outside her window, Chicago was still aflame with such enchanting weather, as if somebody had taken a match to the sky. Matches. Cigarettes. The words connected in her head, she needed to calm her rushes of thought. She needed a smoke. No, she thought determinedly. She got up and moved closer to the window, watching the world pan out in front of her, still clutching on to her keys.   
  
  
  
She was utterly preoccupied with thoughts of Luka. Not that she had seen or spoken to him today. But gossip at work, as viscous and damaging as ever, had informed her of today through his eyes. And now she was feeling as if part of him had been transplanted within her, as she toyed with her concern for him; concern that she knew he had felt a thousand times over for her. Yet she did not imagine that he had been troubled with the same uncertainties. Although she desperately wanted to be a friend, part of her, a part with experience of that man, knew she would only come home full of more questions. With Luka came complexity, complexity which was both sweetly enticing and repelling.   
  
  
  
Rapidly, Abby ran a finger against one of the keys, its jagged edge feeling silky smooth to her touch. This finely cut silver object was a key to his apartment, one that he had never asked to have back, one that she had removed and replaced from her set a thousand times over. Something she could not let go of, even if she tried. With it came such simplicity as sunlight bounced off its glistening edges. She could just open his door and walk in. And scare the shit out of him. Maybe not. Deciding that she would feel completely ambiguous whether she stayed or went, she adopted a rapid sense of purpose. Just being there could make all the difference. She shoved the mixture of keys into her pocket then hailed the door closing behind her as an important soundtrack to her near future.   
  
As she paced the streets peacefully, the punishing heat rapidly dissolving away around her, she went over in her head what she was going to say. She didn't think that being blunt with a "Hey, I heard you carried that dying girl in your arms today," was the best icebreaker. Warmth suddenly invaded her body, her whole consciousness infected with a rush of pleasing humidity. Perfect weather did not allow for imperfect emotions: everyone equated a good climate with a good mood. Abby speculated on what Luka's disposition would be when she arrived. Hearing what went on from him was at the very least, going to be the most accurate account of events. All the same, she expected him to be withdrawn, pacified, perhaps even brooding. Once again, she would have to coax it out gently. Battle plans firmly laid, she pushed open the main door with a rush of intention.   
  
Immediately, she was hit by a pulsating wall of sound. Thick bass lines were elegantly mixed with a grating male vocal. Some guy going on about being the sexiest man in Jamaica. Abby rolled her eyes. Somebody's having one hell of a party, she thought, surprised she was actually able to order any thoughts in the midst of such noise. Climbing the stairs slowly, as if each one were Everest, she began to feel the doubts arising inside again. Taking a much needed moment to gather just a few ounces of composure, a few threads of understanding, she leant back against the redundantly cold wall. Grow up, she thought, you're not a teenager with a crush. That would be nice, though, she imagined, with a smile.   
  
  
  
Now face to face with his door, she closed her eyes painfully tight, tempted to thump her fist three times against her forehead rather than the cold portal that encountered her. Ignoring this irrational notion, her hand thudded almost in time with the excruciatingly loud music that permeated from upstairs. Then came the waiting, the seconds like minutes, the minutes like hours, the hours like days. Open the damn door, she thought, impatience beginning to prevail with a frightening urgency. It was a torture that she came close to enjoying. Luka arrived reasonably swiftly, both surprised and pleased to have a visitor.   
  
"Hi Abby, come in," he said, without questioning her motives, without asking her why she was here, as part of him already knew why. Abby noticed that in his left hand he was holding a book. Yet more reading? Seeing that she had noticed, he waved her in, closed the door firmly, then commented.  
  
  
  
"Testing the theory," he said, indicating the Greek Tragedies book that he had been reading. "What can I do for you?" Don't answer that, she thought, mischievously. As always, he wanted to help, and in turn, she could not help but smile.   
  
"I came to see how you are...after today. I heard about what you did." She replied succinctly, turning casually towards the wide open window. It was a wild evening. The sun had set, leaving behind eclectic streaks of copper in a caramel sky. Switching cautiously from nature to man, she observed him, waiting eagerly for his reply. Luka considered his response carefully while pouring himself a cold glass of Irn-Bru, listening to the fizz sparkling in the air. Part of him wanted to say, "I guess you heard about my freak show," to give the image that he was generally pissed off with the world. But he did not submit to the falsehood. If he said that he hadn't really thought about what he had done today then he would've been lying. It had affected him, but not in the way he had expected.  
  
"I'm fine. Would you like some?"   
  
Abby felt somewhat confronted by the gleaming vial of luminous fizz.  
  
"Can I be blunt?"   
  
"Why change the habit of a lifetime?" He asked, playfully.  
  
She ignored his insight. "It looks like the remnants of a nuclear accident." She exhaled deeply, feeling the warm air all around. "Seriously, though, how are you feeling?"   
  
Luka was pleased to feel her immediate concern, to see the evident eagerness in her eyes. It was nice. But if she was here attempting to unravel the depths of his consciousness, she would have to go home empty-handed. Not because he wanted to keep it all locked inside, not because he was afraid to explain what he was feeling; but because the anger, emptiness and frustration had chosen to elude him this time around. Misery had slipped through his grasp like fine sands, had escaped him like a fugitive and he was left with a refreshing sense of well-being. Even though his mind had deliberated that young woman's death for some time, his instant thoughts left him with an unclouded horizon, a thriving outlook. Too much had already eaten into the depths of his soul, wasting away so many years, poisoning so many opportunities. Not even the thudding music which grated and bounced against the ceiling, which could have sent anyone half crazy, permeated through the protective shield of tranquillity that was surrounding him.  
  
"Fine. It was what she wanted.....to die out in the beautiful weather. I don't really blame her, I think I would have felt the same myself," he said gently, observing the sky outside. Wondrous traces of scarlet red in the stratosphere were like the traces of that young woman's soul, illuminating the sky. Never mind tomorrow, she was still here today, hours later. "She's out of the misery now." He smiled, pleased that all the conflicting thoughts once bouncing around inside his head like erratic pinballs, had been resolved. Maria no longer knew the pain, the illness, the desperate battle, now she was alive somewhere else and that was an astonishing, almost infinite comfort.   
  
Now I really need a cigarette, Abby thought, surprised that she did not have to force a smile. But it was almost funny. Ironic, in an amusing sort of way. When she had desperately wanted Luka to be happy he was a picture of sadness, infused with despair to the core. Now, when she had expected him to need cheering up, he had a grin the size of the damned Brooklyn Bridge. She wondered if he would notice if she started to bang her head violently against the wall, which was something she really felt like doing at that particular moment. The outside world was screwed up, the weather so unnatural, why shouldn't everything else be screwed up? Back to the small talk, she decided, lost in her pursuit of some sort of deep and meaningful conversation.  
  
"Are your neighbours having a party?" Her eyes drifted to the ceiling.  
  
He shook his head lightly. "No, that's just Mo, the guy from upstairs. He's a DJ....Every night for half an hour he practices his set."   
  
"What if everybody doesn't like hearing his set? Doesn't he know what headphones are? Doesn't it piss you off?" Luka was concerned by her somewhat erratic, rapid-fire questions. Something was under her skin.   
  
"I just told him he should be grateful I don't bring my work home. Are you alright?"   
  
God, I want to scream, she thought. Am I alright? This was unbelievable. Aware that her rapidly declining mood was becoming evident, she swallowed hard and closed her eyes momentarily. The thudding of the music stopped. She smiled, realising that what he had said was quite amusing. Well, if you can't beat 'em... Although Abby knew that it was tantamount to surrender, she suspected that there would be more chances for a deeper insight. "So, is he, like, one of your friends?" She spoke, attempting to calm herself slightly.   
  
"I know that he has a worrying addiction to KFC, he loves movies and sings very loudly, so....I suppose I know him quite well." He replied, still attempting to analyse her mood. They were interrupted by a knock at the door, three sharp rasps. "Excuse me for a minute." He went to answer the door, leaving Abby with a precious moment to herself, to compose the amalgam of feelings that fizzled deep within.   
  
Clenching one fist into a tight ball, she squeezed, compacting the sheer confusion, crushing it away, trying to let her puzzlement fade into insignificance. Her thoughts were gladly interrupted as her ears tuned into the dialogue that was going on over on the other side of the room. It did not take her long to ascertain that Luka's visitor was the elusive Mo from upstairs. She hoped this was not going to be just a flying visit as this guy sounded interesting.   
  
"I got you this, I'm thinkin' Time Crisis 2 just doesn't feel right without the guns." Mo, who was clearly dressed for summer in basketball vest and huge denim shorts, eagerly emptied the PlayStation 2 accessories catalogue into Luka's hands. He flicked the pages quickly, scanning rapidly with a somewhat cautious gaze. "What makes you think I need a "Phaser Light Gun" with optical sights?" He flashed a half-smile, glad that he wasn't the one who had to think up the names for those things.  
  
Mo shrugged. "You have the DVD remote." Nine times out of ten, if you had a question, Mo had some sort of plausible answer.  
  
"It comes in useful when you insist on watching all your favourite movies here. Did you want anything else?" Luka asked slowly, not wanting to get rid of him, but knowing that everything with Mo was a game that you just had to play out.   
  
Mo smiled charismatically. "Two things," he said, raising two fingers from his left hand into the air. "First, you can introduce me to your friend, then we can all sit down and watch these." He was not averse to telling things how they were, so he emptied a pile of DVDs into Luka's arms and brushed casually past him. He moved rhythmically, almost dancing across the floor towards Abby. He outstretched a large hand, flashing a warm smile, beaming like the sun.   
  
"Hey. I'm Mo, I live upstairs. Tell me, how do you have the misfortune of knowing Luka?" She took a few moments to look at him before she replied. He was tall, reasonably muscular and his eyes had an unmissable sizzling quality, sunshine burning in his retinas. His grip was firm but soft, extremely welcoming.   
  
"I work with him," she said, amused, thinking it was definitely not her misfortune. Mo nodded, smiled, twisted his hand, then let go.   
  
"Any good saves today?"   
  
Why did everybody seem to think that there was something dazzling about working in a hospital? She was tempted to tell him about her day and its harsh realities: people with sunburn in intimate places, overflowing bedpans and some poor sucker with a bullet through his earlobe. Piercing in an entirely new context. But she simply replied, "It really isn't that glamorous."  
  
He smiled at her, unfazed. "It is to me. They spent two hours trying to bring my Dad back, so they tell me, so...I think you do a pretty special job."   
  
Something in the tone of his voice was communicating that the attempts he was speaking of had been unsuccessful, so she said quickly, "I'm sorry," amazed that this man she barely knew had just told her something that was quite private.  
  
"Thanks. It's been a while now. Do you sing?" He spoke slowly, but still with a potent sprinkling of vivacity wrapped around his words.   
  
Syringe in one hand, song book in the other. I think not, she thought.   
  
"Not if I can help it, why?"   
  
"He's trying to get a record deal. Thinks that recording a duet is the only way to go," Luka replied, feeling strangely displaced within his own four walls.   
  
"You don't have to record a duet with a woman," she said, gazing speculatively in Luka's direction.   
  
"Nah, I already tried that. No joy. C'mon, man. I mean, there's Don't Let The Sun Go Down On Me.."   
  
  
  
Luka let out an audible sigh, it was his turn to feel like banging his head against the wall. "Mo. I cannot sing. So just let it go."   
  
"We could do The Boy Is Mine in drag."   
  
He laughed, then replied in an amused, almost disbelieving tone. "You really think that will change my mind?"   
  
"OK. I'll give you a thousand dollars." Mo spoke in all seriousness.  
  
Abby shook her head dismissively. "He probably earns that in an hour." Any chance for a cheap shot at the overpaid doctors, in her opinion, needed to be taken. Luka quickly covered his face with his hands, feeling as if he was in the school playground and being ganged up on. Deciding that he was stronger than that, he pushed his hands through his hair and breathed out slowly.   
  
He turned to face Abby, and engaging her in a piercing, thoughtful stare, he responded.   
  
"Nobody does it for the money." His tone was passionate but direct. It was effective. Regret slowly began to rise in her like the humid air, Abby returned his stare with a wilful, submissive glance which simply said "I know." She did not need to vocalise her thoughts, they were clearly emblazoned across every inch of her eyes.   
  
Their attention was then distracted by Mo, who had slipped away unnoticed but now, as ever, his presence was seemingly in the foreground.   
  
They both turned to watch in different shades of disbelief as he grouted in the freezer compartment, his head thrust fully into the icy nadir.   
  
"Is he for real?" She asked, half smiling, half confused, waiting for someone, anyone, to pinch her and bring her back into reality with a violent jolt.  
  
"I'm afraid so." Their gazes locked momentarily, a clear moment of intimacy in a spinning spectrum of insanity, an attempt perhaps to make sense of something.   
  
"I should go home, I have to work in the morning."   
  
"So, you're going to leave me alone with him?" Abby smiled, decoding the subtext in his words: this was a "please don't go" thinly disguised with humour.   
  
"What is he looking for?" She decided to make him sweat a little by changing the subject.   
  
"I don't have any chicken, so he must be looking for ice cream."  
  
Just as Luka spoke, one arm came flying out of the freezer, tub of Ben and Jerry's firmly in hand. "I got 'cha!" Mo rapidly pulled of the top and hastily inserted three spoons into the unexpectedly soft ice cream. "What's it to be then? Horror or James Bond? I have Tomorrow Never Dies..that unforgettable stunt with the remote control BMW."   
  
Though his tone was slightly authoritative, he was not imposing or overbearing and Mo definitely did not come across as selfish. Just enthusiastic. He loved his music, his movies and his food and the more people he could share them with, the better.   
  
"That sounds OK to me. Abby?"   
  
"You have ice cream. That loosely translates as I don't care." She swiftly took the ice cream out of Mo's hands and sat down.  
  
"In that case, I'll go back up and bring down Deep Throat. Pun unintended."   
  
After his somewhat risqué comment, which was nevertheless well received by his audience, Mo busied himself in setting up the film.   
  
"There's one thing I'll never understand about James Bond."   
  
"How he suddenly changed from old man to a young one again, or how he hasn't got syphilis from screwing around so much?" Mo smiled at Abby's answer, then put forward his own theory.  
  
"Nah. The guy's meant to be a secret agent, yet he goes around tellin' everybody his name. To me, that's just stupid. Why doesn't he just tell everybody he's called Bob or somethin'?"  
  
"One of life's mysteries." Luka replied effortlessly, with a half smile, feeling a little tired. He guessed that even a child could be exhausted by his neighbour's outward energy. Even so, he was pleased to be having such a trivial conversation, not everything had to be so life or death.  
  
There was silence as they waited for the DVD to load. Mo claimed his seat in between Abby and Luka, grinning with a sly smile as if he knew something that everybody else had missed. Despite relaxing with his feet on the table, he tapped his fingers in slight irritation against his thigh, attempting to remember something. Abby watched with intrigue as he began to frown, an expression seemingly out of place for a man with such a sunny disposition. She toyed with the spoon in the ice cream, slightly mesmerised by her fixed, concentrated state of mind. Jesus, she had enough trouble attempting to decipher Luka, let alone this guy that she had just met. Finally, the temptation of Double Chocolate Swirl got the better of her and she turned her attention to the tub rather than trying to understand the male psyche. After all, there was nothing to understand about ice cream other than it tasted good.   
  
Five minutes into the film and Mo suddenly remembered what he had been struggling to recall. His frown faded and he submitted to a grin. He did not like to feel his memory fading, so when he caught up with his errant thoughts, he shifted slightly in the seat and then smiled fully. Turning to Luka, he said rapidly, "Can I count you in for next week? My cousin's having another party."  
  
"Same time and place?" He asked, adjusting the volume slightly.  
  
"Yeah. I can drive there, you can drive back."   
  
"OK, but we're going in your car. I don't have enough room for all your stuff." Luka hoped that didn't come across so explicitly as "You're not driving my car." "Ever." But, he was telling the truth, it was impossible to fit all Mo's things in his car.  
  
"Fine by me. Hey, you wanna come too?" Now, Mo turned to Abby, spoon hanging upside-down in her mouth. Quickly, she dragged it out, savouring every bit of melting ice cream. Although every bone in her body, every cell in her blood was expecting to refuse politely, she shocked herself slightly by replying with a gluttonous smile. "Sure, why not? When?"  
  
  
  
"Next Wednesday. Let's meet here, about eight." Mo was pleased, he slapped his leg contentedly and grinned. Expeditiously, Abby scanned her mental calendar, and, sure enough, she did not, to the best of her knowledge, have to work next Wednesday. She exhaled, then managed a slightly mischievous grin as she wondered just what she had got herself into. Only the future would prevail with the answer.   
  
  
  
***** 


	8. All Shook Up

Title: Hotter Than July  
  
Rating: PG-13, but R later on...  
  
Disclaimer: The ER characters do not belong to me, neither do any products, song lyrics or literary quotations mentioned.  
  
Summary: Warm weather, flirtation and a few lessons to be learned. Luby. Sort of AU, sort of not.  
  
Reviews: Thanks for all the reviews so far, please continue to let me know what you think :)   
  
Light, colours, images, pictures trickled across her irises in a vivid stream. She leant harder on the desk, pushing her palm firmly into her cheek, grinding her elbow against the redundant, cold plastic. It was frustrating to be so close to something yet seemingly so far away. Although Luka was immovably in her line of sight, she was too far in the distance to make sense of the conversation he was having with a mysterious woman who was almost tall enough to look him right in the eyes. As her mind constantly endeavoured to ascertain what was going on, not a single thought passed through her troubled consciousness, only her fierce concentration on her subjects prevailed. It was like looking at a painting or photo in a gallery: one image yet a thousand different ways to interpret it. Frankly, somebody would've had to throw quicklime in her eyes to stop her from observing with intent. Finally, Abby was interrupted by a gentle but firm nudge in the ribs.  
  
"Stop staring or your eyes will stay like that," Susan said, wondering why such a simple scene had garnered such attention.   
  
"I wasn't...oh, never mind...it's not even worth it." Abby swiftly abandoned her defence, knowing full well that in this place, you were accused, tried and convicted however much you pleaded your innocence.   
  
"Who's the woman?"   
  
"No idea." She replied nonchalantly, but her body language was far from careless as she tapped her fingers rhythmically against the desk. Reading this,   
  
Susan moved a little closer, and, ensuring nobody was in earshot, whispered "So, what's been going on lately, then?"   
  
"With what?" Although her tone suggested that she was none the wiser, Abby knew, with a frighteningly psychic rush, where this conversation was going. At least she had tried to pretend that this was not the case, it was always worth feigning and fighting against heading down the path that you did not want to take.   
  
"With you and Luka. It's been like me and my shadow over the last few weeks."   
  
Abby smiled at the image, then said objectively, "Nothing. Just coincidence."   
  
Susan laughed dryly. "No such thing. C'mon, tell me. There's been zip all going on all day. I need a little excitement." Her manner was easy, light and convincing. Abby had barely shared these feelings with herself, let alone attempting to vocalise and rationalise them, but the offer to unburden was tempting.  
  
"It'll take more than a few minutes. More like a lifetime." Her words were infused with a trickle of sadness.   
  
"Well, seeing as I'm running the show instead of Wonderwoman, I think we can spare half an hour for some lunch. I'm sure that your shadow can fill in for a while. And don't worry, I'll find out who she is."   
  
Still riddled with a hindering reluctance, but once again finding herself submitting to other people's schemes, Abby replied softly, "Alright, you win. I'll just get my things." Things sounded nicer than cigarettes. She headed for her locker, racing past Luka and his companion like a flash of light, the softness of their goodbyes just catching on her earlobes. Once she had reached the safety of the lounge, she peered over her shoulder to see that he was now conversing with Susan.   
  
  
  
"Who's your friend?" She asked immediately, remembering the pledge that she had made moments ago.  
  
Momentarily, Luka was tempted to ask her why she was so interested but then changed his mind. Not everybody asked questions just for the chance for a cheap dig through your personal life. "My friend's girlfriend. Just passing on a message. Did you want something?"   
  
"Can I ask a favour?" Susan asked cautiously.  
  
"Sure, but I'm off in half an hour, so it'd better be a quick one." Although he was happy to help, he was beginning to feel fatigue creeping up on him.  
  
"Can I leave you with the keys to the city for half an hour? Just going for some lunch."   
  
"No problem. Anything I should know about?" All corners needed to be covered just in case Weaver should appear from the ether.  
  
In turn, Susan considered the question carefully. "You'd better keep an eye on Pratt, the weather's making him a little hyperactive. We don't want any lawsuits." Luka folded his arms protectively and smiled.  
  
"Oh, and the Elvis impersonator in five. If he gets any louder, it's probably best to sedate him."   
  
He grinned a little harder. "What's wrong with him? Does he have a wooden heart or a suspicious mind?"   
  
She laughed, beginning to see that he was not just pleasing on the eye.  
  
"No, someone set fire to his wig." She corrected, yet only unknowingly paving the way for another joke.  
  
"That will teach him to give concerts in the ghetto." He could not resist the temptation to inject a little more humour.   
  
She laughed again, more than a little surprised. "As much as I'd love to play this game all day, I'm getting kinda hungry. Page me if it gets heavy."   
  
Unable to think of any other Elvis related jokes, Luka decided it was time to give in. "OK, that's fine. Go, have lunch." Susan gave in too, his voice so gentle and persuasive, she collected Abby and left, without feeling even the slightest ounce of guilt.   
  
Soon enough, a loud and out of tune wailing was grating against Luka's eardrums. The strains of Don't Be Cruel filtered through the busy air. Cruel?? More like torture, he thought. Deciding that Susan's advice was definitely not to be ignored, he took action immediately. Shaking his head in amusement and disbelief, he emptied a little Thorazine into a syringe and headed off in the direction of "Elvis's" bed.   
  
"It's now or never," he said, under his breath, smiling at the madness of the world. 


	9. Chemistry

Title: Hotter Than July  
  
Rating: PG-13, but R later on...  
  
Disclaimer: The ER characters do not belong to me, neither do any products, song lyrics or literary quotations mentioned.  
  
Summary: Warm weather, flirtation and a few lessons to be learned. Luby. Sort of AU, sort of not.  
  
Reviews: I know I keep on saying this, but thanks so much for all your reviews and keep em' coming, they keep my muse dancing :)   
  
"For man is man and master of his fate." Tennyson  
  
As the lunch time rush buzzed and hummed like an electricity generator, Susan and Abby escaped the general madness of the hospital's general proximity, and for that matter, the eager ears of their colleagues, five minutes away in the battered darkness of a side street café. Even the electric blue sky and humid air seemed to fade into pools of miserable contemplation within its four walls. Mario, the owner, famous in the area for his rejection of anything different to him, was cursing at something on the small television in the corner, flashing news bulletin pictures like strobe lighting. In contrast, Too Bad by Nickelback grated out of the small, ancient radio. Despite his bigotry, however, Mario was famed for making the best coffee in the whole of Illinois.   
  
Abby paused to look at the three things in front of her on the table: cigarettes, lighter and steaming cup of coffee. Which drug to take on board first? She wondered, knowing that she would need artificial substances to get through any speculation on her feelings. After regarding that idea with a little sadness, she took out a Marlboro, then tapped its non-filter end slowly, purposefully against the box. She had only ever seen one person do this before: her father. God knows where he was. He could even be dead, for all you know, she thought, with a cold shudder which seemed to echo back against the dreary walls. She closed her eyes to shut off that train of thought, then put the cigarette in her mouth, groped for her lighter, then lit. I can even do it with my eyes shut, she thought, with an irrational triumph.   
  
The first drag was always the best, the bolt of nicotine shooting right through the filter tip into her craving, warmed blood. She opened her eyes and exhaled, feeling calmer, but then was instantly reminded by the inquisitive look on her friend and colleague's face of exactly why she was there. How the hell do I put this into words?   
  
"So, who was the mystery woman?" She asked directly, remembering Susan's pledge to find out the truth.   
  
"His friend's girlfriend. I didn't ask what she wanted." "So, c'mon. Why were, or should I say, why are you so interested?"  
  
"Find me a woman who doesn't watch him like that," Abby said, taking a longer drag, attempting to change the subject slightly, trying to send Susan off on a tangent.  
  
"Weaver. But if any guy could turn her," Susan said with a smile, always enjoying poking fun at her boss.   
  
  
  
Abby laughed. "Hey, that would be a great April Fool's joke."   
  
"You think we could get Luka to play along?"   
  
She rested her cigarette-free hand against her cheek thoughtfully, feeling the burning in her capillaries, sunlight trickling onto her face. "Maybe. Lately he seems to be the happiest guy in the world. It doesn't make any sense. I just wish I could figure it out." Her voice conveyed both the agitation and pleasure of her challenge. He was so intriguing, so utterly captivating and these emotions were not easy to express; not simple to turn from impulses, pictures and sensations into actual words. It was painstakingly difficult to articulate. She was sure that with most women, curiosity about Luka was sparked purely by looking at him. But for her it ran deeper. She wanted to understand his motivation, his reasons. It affected her profoundly, it was etched on her consciousness, flowing in her blood, imprinted on her memory like a photographic reel bathed in silver nitrate.   
  
"Did you try the direct route, you asked him what was going on?"   
  
Realising that her cigarette was burning away to nothing, ever closer to her fingertips, she nodded, took a long, luxurious drag, then tapped the mountainous ash into a sad, opaque ashtray.   
  
"Ask a straight question, never get a straight answer. It's always the same." She knew however, that she was often guilty of this herself, never really wanting to give too much information away. If you kept your cards close to your chest, life was much less of a gamble.   
  
"Maybe you're trying too hard. Some people would just sit back and let it happen." "Or not happen," Susan added objectively, covering all corners.  
  
Abby let a wry smile twist across her face. "So you don't believe in coincidence but fate has got you cornered?"   
  
"I'm just suggesting a different way of looking at things. Perhaps you don't have to put in so much work."  
  
Susan read the sceptical look on Abby's face but was undeterred, convinced that she was helping, if only a little. Abby stubbed out and exhaled for the last time, taking a long sip of bitter, hot coffee.   
  
"I think this is something I need to figure out for myself." "Even if it damn near kills me." She meant it, her voice insistent.  
  
Susan smiled and replied. "You shouldn't say that, you know, because that really is tempting fate."   
  
"Maybe fate owes me one." She said, with neither optimism nor pessimism. Yet she was not about to sit back and give in to the belief that fate could hand her anything on a plate. Things could never be so simple, so close to perfection. When a chemist mixed greying, decaying metallic sodium with garish green gaseous chlorine, he or she knew that after a few fizzes and bangs, pure white crystals of salt would prevail.   
  
In contrast, with Luka, she never knew what the reaction would be. One moment they could be entwined in such a timeless, instantaneous state of rapture, as if stars and planets had aligned into creating a hurricane of pure affection. But on the other side came the dislocation, the miscommunication, the feeling as if they were scraping the gutter, devoid of emotion. It was a fine line, like treading the biting gauze of a tightrope wire. On reflection, she did not want or expect perfection, in fact, imperfection, like a report missing pages or an unfinished book, was something much more beautiful.   
  
Soon enough, the half-hour had eclipsed, the midday sun purled, twisted and spun turbocharged, searing rays around in flickers of white light.   
  
Inside, the stark lighting of the hospital was as painful as the bursts of UV light outside. Both Abby and Susan squinted painfully as their eyes adjusted to the change in atmosphere, as if for one moment, they understood exactly the same thing. Luka himself was going through much the same as the uncompromising computer screen glared into the tired hollows of his eyes. he was very glad to see them return as this meant that after twelve hours on the rollercoaster that was emergency medicine, he could finally go home. In reality, the end of a shift sent a confusing mixture of emotions flying around in his head. Sometimes, the events flashed through his memory like a tropical rainstorm, and he remembered every face, every death, who was still critical, the strangest thing that he had seen. In some ways it made him want to stay and keep going, but he knew that running on pure adrenaline was dangerous for everyone.  
  
"How's Elvis?" Susan asked, concerned that if things had gone awry in her absence, the penalty would be severe.  
  
"He's closer to dreamland than he is to Graceland." He was more than happy to entertain her for a short while.  
  
"You may have an MD but you would've failed the comedy school entrance exam every time."   
  
"At least I would've tried," he replied, believing that there was a lot to be said for simple endeavours.   
  
"Next you'll be telling me you wrote RTS on his chart." She said, deciding that two could easily play the humour game.  
  
He frowned. "RTS?"   
  
"Return To Sender." Susan quipped, pleased with her effort.  
  
"I think that means it's definitely time to go home. I'll see you tomorrow."  
  
He rapidly discarded his lab coat by dumping it in his locker, then swiftly returned to his colleagues, remembering that he had left his mobile phone, rendered defunct within these four walls, somewhere in the ever-growing clutter. Weaver's absence was telling.   
  
"Where are you rushing off to?" Abby asked, her curiosity as instantaneously ignited as petrol flowing across a spark plug. After eventually locating his phone, his pace changed somewhat as he reached to undo his tie, slowly teasing the knot open in some sort of agonising striptease, parting the material as if he were cracking open a wishbone. She watched, enthralled for all but a second as his fingers opened one shirt button, then another and a final third; such a subconscious moment yet something that had a painfully conscious effect on her. As ever, he was shifting, shaping, compounding her emotions without even realising. After what seemed like endless hours, but had actually only been a few seconds, he answered her question.  
  
"Since I have been working for the last twelve hours, home." He paused for a lingering moment, which seemed to hang in the air. "To bed."   
  
"I see. Who's the lucky girl?" Abby asked, feeling as if she could've played that game with him for a lifetime.  
  
"Nobody," he replied, pulling the ream of silk over his shoulders. "Unless you'd like to volunteer." Sometimes he concluded that it was best to play her at her own game.  
  
She smiled craftily, then said rapidly, "I'm all outta charity for this month. Give it a coupla weeks."  
  
"I'll keep a close eye on the calendar, then." Charm oozed from him like a trickle of golden syrup sliding along a fine thread of silk, yet his body was aching for rest. Luka had intended that to be his parting shot until he felt a gentle tug on his arm, pulling him back against the current of his motion.   
  
"Hey, you know I'm coming to this party tomorrow?" Abby was cautious not to say "we're going," aware that even the walls had ears. He nodded his acknowledgement, prompting her to continue.   
  
  
  
"What should I wear? I mean, is there, like, a theme?" She felt a little stupid and slightly embarrassed to be asking him for fashion tips, but the whole concept of this party felt completely alien to her.   
  
Luka smiled emphatically. "Last time, I ended up face down in the grass trying to get out from underneath a pile of bodies." Things always got a little crazy with Mo around.   
  
"I didn't think it was that kind of party." He smiled down at her, relaxed by her jovial mood.   
  
"It's not a formal affair. So don't worry about it." His words were more than a reassurance, almost an instruction. Abby nodded, folded her arms, then smiled. "OK. Thank you." In all honesty, she still felt none the wiser about what to wear, but decided that she would figure it out. Somehow, she always did.  
  
With a flash of a smile, Luka was gone, safely on his way home. Walking, he let the city melt away around him. Like a soluble aspirin dropped into water; the grey sillouhetted buildings fizzed into a haze. The midday rush hour was mounting, road rage beginning to buzz in the bodies of drivers, the heat only adding fuel to the fire. But for him, these examples blurred like water-colours bleeding into each other on a canvas and the only portraits that made any sense were his thoughts. The last two weeks had been a rush of colour, a burst of heat, an amalgam of metallic certainties. Things seemed to click into place like a jigsaw, everything merged into everything else; yet truths were evident. He could not remember feeling this good about life for what seemed like an eternity. But then, when you woke at erratic hours, to a cerulean blue sky or a tempestuously sticky summer evening, the darkness of the urban city seemed as bright as paradise: distopia clouded into utopia. Then came tomorrow. The future, with all its uncertainties, did little to aggrieve him. Warm, uncompromising air kissed his skin like a redundant lover, his tiredness faded into a mild sense of belonging. This Chicago, this America all around him did not seem so rejecting, so unkind. It was not home, if in fact, he was able to define home, but it was becoming more familiar, more comfortable.  
  
Once within the safety on his own four walls, sipping from an ice cold glass of water, Luka gazed speculatively out of the wide open window, the sky laced with traces of abandoned scarlet, the city unaware, winding itself deeper into the afternoon just as he was nearing sleep. He turned away and began to imagine what had made the difference. Which factors, combinations of letters, numbers, chemicals or signs had aligned to create such harmony? Knowing that he would go insane or make his head hurt from sifting through the possibilities, he laid down on the bed, still wearing all his clothes, then closed his eyes and was comforted. Not only were the sheets cool and welcoming, but he was safe in the knowledge that when he opened his eyes again, tomorrow would be there to embrace him.   
  
***** 


	10. It's All In The Game

Title: Hotter Than July  
  
Rating: PG-13, but R later on...  
  
Disclaimer: The ER characters do not belong to me, neither do any products, song lyrics or literary quotations mentioned.  
  
Summary: Warm weather, flirtation and a few lessons to be learned. Luby. Sort of AU, sort of not.  
  
Reviews: Thanks for all your comments and keep letting me know what you think please!! :)   
  
Author's note: One instance of strong language here folks, ya have been warned!!  
  
"Without music, life would be a mistake." Nietzsche.  
  
Music. Once again, it was tickling her eardrums, clicking over in her brain, pulsing her senses alive. Abby contemplated what everybody else living in the building must've thought about what seemed to be the constant noise. She knew that if she lived there, it would have toyed with her, perhaps even peppered her with agitation, as she was always grateful for a little peace when she got home after the end of a long shift. She stopped on the landing, questioning her reflection in the cool glass of the window. It was getting near to ninety degrees outside and there was very little breeze to take the edge off the stifling heat. Her eyes had begun to sting, so she paused to carefully wipe away the acidic saltiness gathering against her irises. Having sat on her last pair of sunglasses, she would have to deal with it for now. Pushing her fingers all the way through the length of her hair, she concluded that at least the sun had eradicated the need for blow-drying, even if her scalp was getting dangerously warmer by the second.   
  
Her vivid indigo shorts moulded to her warm skin, she shifted uncomfortably for a moment. Purposefully, she shook her head gently, rapidly displacing a few errant strands of her long hair from her face; shaking away the questions buzzing in her head. You're here to enjoy yourself, not to analyse. I should've been a psychiatrist, she thought, with a smile, feeling the deep pang of irony. No, I wasn't meant to have too many letters after my name. Suddenly feeling trapped in the small space, she went upstairs. There was no agonising wait for someone to open the door this time. The door to Luka's apartment was wide open, beckoning like the mouth of a tunnel, held open by a heavy black object that looked much like an amplifier. It seemed to her like some sort of statement: the door is always open. Abby's attention was then distracted by an odd sight. The floor was decorated with a row of empty Coke bottles, their contour shape making shadowy patterns on floor, their green tint glowing in the sunshine, they were arranged like an absurd row of skittles.   
  
Luka and Mo were at the table, seemingly unflustered by the weather, engaged in a friendly game of Operation. Getting closer, she realised that this was not the case, the heat had affected them too. Mo's skin gleamed with a scant trace of sweat, both of them had unfastened a multitude of shirt buttons, leaving her with tempting glances of bare chest. The sun's getting to you, she thought, with a secret, almost lascivious smile. Mo had changed his haircut too, the braids newly twisted on top of his head like a contortionist. To follow a path along one of the thick strands would have been like following an unfinished map, your final destination never quite where you would've expected it to be.   
  
"What's next? Twister?" A simple hello did not seem fitting to the situation.  
  
Mo shook his head. "Let me tell ya, I ain't gettin' no stitches from this guy! You've joined us at the critical stage. It's two hundred dollars for the wishbone."   
  
"The scandal of modern medicine," she said, breezily, joining them at the table.   
  
  
  
Mo had propped both his elbows against the very edge of the table, with the entirely criminal intention of attempting to jar the table and set off the buzzer. As Luka, infused with concentration, carefully tried to remove the wishbone, Mo desperately mis-timed and overshot his attempt, slamming his right elbow hard against the uncompromising wood.  
  
"Shit!! Motherfuckin'..." He was a man as animated in his pain as he was in his pleasure, jumping to his feet and grabbing his elbow.   
  
"Serves you right for being a cheat." Luka said, amused at his friend's plight.  
  
"You ain't got no compassion!" Mo replied, trying in vain to stifle the flow of laughter ready to trickle from his mouth, rubbing his hand speedily against his injured elbow.   
  
"Here, have a cherry," Luka said, aspiring to placate Mo's pain by distracting his attention, by offering him a huge bowl of shiny, dark crimson cherries.  
  
  
  
Mo picked a solitary fruit and smiled his gratitude mockingly. His theory was that he treated his own life much like a cherry: enjoying the succour of rich, diverse, sweet flesh and discarding the wasteful stone yet preserving it for its productivity, its rebirth. After he had finished eating, he conserved the stone deep in the soft denim lining of his huge shorts, forgotten and unimportant, but lingering for the future.   
  
"I'm gonna get some ice. And I left a few things upstairs. So I'll be back in a coupla minutes." He scuttled off, in his own world, still feeling a distant throb in his arm from the jarring of his elbow. Pointing the remote control purposefully at the stereo, he switched off the blaring music, not wanting to miss a single beat as he finally paced out through the open door in search of some respite. Abby swiftly took his place, sitting opposite Luka, distinctly avoiding his gaze for a while, finding it almost painful to be in his eyeline. Sometimes, he really did leave her lost for words, struggling to find anything to say. Silence was somehow golden as he concentrated on his futile task, tenderly endeavouring to pick the cold piece of plastic out without disturbing the peace.   
  
After finally pulling the wishbone clear without a hint of any noise, Luka smiled triumphantly, half-happy, half-bemused that he was participating in such a game. He looked across the table, glancing at Abby with a little more intent. In a reminiscent flash of images, he suddenly realised that she had been an almost permanent fixture in his rather erratic life for the last few weeks. She had been, as he had put it all that time ago, "Chasing his shadow." He knew that his mood, of late, had been as changeable as the seasons, with the lucidity and warmth of summer being the presiding emotions that buzzed in his veins. He let his curiosity pass, deciding that he was glad to have her company without speculating about what exactly had motivated her to be in his presence. He watched with a deep shade of intrigue as she slowly leant back against the chair, her eyes wide open, her body relaxed, a slight expression of torture etched across her warm face.  
  
"So. Tell me, what should I expect to happen tonight?" Aware that his gaze was becoming an assessing one, she looked right into his eyes, digging deep into his soul for a truthful answer. Momentarily transfixed by her expression, he broke into a smile, then answered.   
  
"You'll just have to wait and see."   
  
She rolled her eyes with a half-grin. Typical. Enigma, mystery and wonder.  
  
Truthfully, she wouldn't have wanted it any other way.  
  
Mo returned in a blaze of colour, football shirts hanging over his shoulders, a huge black and silver case in one hand, the box of Twister uncouthly shoved underneath his other arm. Grimacing from his exertion, he put the case down, precariously balancing Twister on top of it.   
  
"Later," he said enigmatically, winking suggestively as he gazed up from the brightly coloured box of the game.   
  
"Some decisions before we go. What's it to be? Italy or Brazil?" He asked while waving the shirts around in the warmth, sending a mêlée of blue, white, yellow and green whirling in the heat, creating a positive rush of screaming air. "You decide," Luka said, deciding to leave his fate in someone else's hands.  
  
  
  
  
  
"Are we going to a soccer match?" Abby questioned, feeling more than a little confused.   
  
"Mo's cousin likes to challenge him to sports matches." Quickly, Luka reflected on the last time, then added, "I hope we're playing with proper equipment this time."   
  
Mo smiled, then taking Abby's continuing confusion on board, explained. "Last time, we played baseball with an empty Coke bottle and burger buns. Man, you shoulda seen those babies fly! Luka hit his one so hard I think some poor guy in LA got covered in breadcrumbs."   
  
He laughed at the memory and replied simply, "I had a few things on my mind." "So, what do you have to do if we lose?" He knew that there was always some sort of challenge or forfeit involved for the loser.  
  
"Uh, I have to go down to Union Station, stand on the platform and sing Karma Chameleon dressed as Boy George. But if we win, then my wonderful cousin Troy has to do it." "So, Italy or Brazil?"   
  
"Traitors," Abby whispered, feeling invigorated by the atmosphere, troubled by the ridiculous images which were slowly forming in her head. Here's me thinking my mother is crazy! She thought, torn between desperation and humour. Luka declined to comment, knowing it was not an inflammatory comment, but Mo was quick to rise to the bait, to surmise a defence. "Italy is a country rich in culture and Brazil are the World Cup holders. So we're entitled to pay them a little respect." Somewhere deep underneath his outward carefree attitude was a deeply serious side. Rapidly, he flung the blue shirt of Italy at Luka, making a double attempt to concrete his claim to a little acculturation.  
  
She got to her feet and shrugged nonchalantly, too radiated with a glow of pleasured indifference to argue, then was brushed with a tingle of amusement as she observed the pained look on Luka's face as he stretched the shirt out in front of him, testing the tension in whatever it was made of. "Are you sure this will fit me?" He didn't want to have it surgically removed at the end of the evening.  
  
"That shirt belongs to my friend Johnny, he's built like a freakin' tank, you'll have loadsa room. Besides, it's meant to be tight, it's all part of the design."   
  
Pausing to take a much-needed breath, he added, folding his arms while grinning inanely, "And, you know, when you score a goal you have to take it off and whirl it around your head."   
  
"Would you like to demonstrate for us now?" Luka asked teasingly, knowing that Mo relished a larger audience for his triumphs.  
  
"It's time to go," he replied, his restlessness now evident as he continually seemed to shake from side to side, attempting to follow his own, personal rhythm. He swiftly picked up the bright yellow Brazil shirt and the case, collecting his belongings much like an unwanted busker ejected from a station. Enigmatically, he disappeared out of the wide-open door without a word, blending into the temperate atmosphere. Luka watched, a little concerned that a man of so many words had vacated a room without a "Hurry up" or a "I'll see you downstairs." Nothing. In an effort to distract his attention he searched for his door keys, preparing himself for their imminent departure. He threw the shirt over one shoulder, then prepared to lock up, wondering if he could find the strength to move that damn amplifier, let alone to get involved in another one of Mo's contests.   
  
"You're not really going to wear that, are you?" Abby looked at him questioningly as if she were pleading with him not to participate.   
  
"It's all a game. You just have to play along," he replied, with another ton of enigma wrapped silently in his words. God help me get through tonight, she thought, nodding slowly as she followed him out of the door. 


	11. Better The Devil You Know

Title: Hotter Than July  
  
Rating: PG-13, but R later on...  
  
Disclaimer: The ER characters do not belong to me, neither do any products, song lyrics or literary quotations mentioned.  
  
Summary: Warm weather, flirtation and a few lessons to be learned. Luby. Sort of AU, sort of not.  
  
Reviews: Once again, I cannot tell you how much I appreicate all your thoughts, I'm still working very hard on this story, so please keep em comin'!!   
  
Author's note: Song referenced in this bit is of course a modern classic, LOL, Better The Devil You Know by Kylie Minogue. :) Yeah, I know these last few chapters are kinda short, but I promise the next few are pretty darn important!!   
  
Often, without them even knowing it, the actions of others shape and formulate decisions in your life. While feeling the cool, sensuous bliss of a rush of air from the air conditioning vents and lounging against the comfortable leather of Mo's back seat, Abby experienced such a moment in time. It is time to buy your own car, she thought, sick and tired of her journeys with other people of late. She was not at all fond of Luka's Michael Schumacher mentality, especially having witnessed its serious consequences, but Mo's driving was on another level, an even more intensely frightening encounter.   
  
"Cause it's true, what they saaay, it's better the devil you know." As he sang loudly, he waved his arms about erratically to stress every note, every syllable, his hands never seeming to be on the wheel. Almost in a frenzy, the music took him over, spiralling an immense catatonia into his body. Not that he was a bad singer, in fact, his voice possessed a haunting tone and richness which seemed to communicate every emotion known to humankind in perfectly timed reams. His vocal was barely louder than Kylie's which rippled out of the powerful speakers. As Australia's most famous export next to Foster's had enjoyed something of a resurgence in popularity in the States thanks to the worldwide success of Can't Get You Out Of My Head, the choice of music was not altogether surprising. But it was extremely loud, the mix of the music and the singing creating an interesting aural sensation.   
  
As the urban sprawl faded into the suburbs, the sun streaking a path, creating rich shadows even though evening's beauty lingered, the karaoke continued. While Luka had found himself strangely accustomed to the general noise which permeated around his friend, indifferently watching the city merge away in pools of heat, Abby was in contemplative mood. If I die in a car accident tonight, she thought strangely amused, who'll be at my funeral?   
  
At least, she thought, with a rueful smile, this far out of the metropolis that is the heart of Chicago, my colleagues won't be scraping me off the tarmac. Dismissing these as irrational and pessimistic thoughts, which were not permitted in this atmosphere, she sat back and closed her eyes. Now a little more comfortable, she slouched contentedly as Mo's distinct versions of Never Too Late, Hand On Your Heart and his excruciatingly soulful renditions of Give Me Just A Little More Time and Tears On My Pillow washed in and out of her consciousness.   
  
Arrival at their destination was both a curse and a blessing. Some of the ripe, cutting humidity had pacified into a less intense warmth, a glow of tranquillity. Yet from outside there was an indication of even more noise, an array of voices and a dull thud of basslines vibrating the air. Torturously affected by the journey's loud music, Abby felt a sharp ringing in her ears, an overwhelming sensation of dizziness as she left the comfort of the BMW. Standing up did not seem so easy anymore, so she spun around and leant against the cold silver metal of the car, arching herself coquettishly toward the merciless sun. Eyes wide open, pupils tiny in the harsh light, her body aching with an uncertain amount of tension, she then closed her eyes tightly, shutting away the ignorance of the world. Luka felt in tune with her angst as every line on her face conveyed confusion and tiredness. And it was only half-past eight!   
  
"You should be thankful that he didn't try and show you the actions."   
  
She opened her eyes, his voice the only thing she felt able to comprehend.   
  
"What actions would they be?" "The Hand Jive? Semaphore?" Sarcasm was literally dripping from her tone, despite her confusion, she knew she soon may well be thriving in this surreal state.  
  
"I wouldn't know anything about it," he said, raising his hands to illustrate his dismissal, unaware that his motions could be conceived as those very actions.   
  
What was at first a true, contented smile broke into a laugh that she did not try to stifle. "That's nice, Luka, that's very cute."   
  
"What?" he asked, both unaware and beguiled.  
  
"Never mind," she said, hopelessly, grinning effortlessly.   
  
The three of them made their way inside the fairly large suburban house, which was strangely outsized by its wide, never-ending sprawl of a garden. A blanket of short, lush green grass carpeted out in an endless ream, punctured only by a comparatively small dash of blue swimming pool. People of all sizes, shapes and nationality were scattered about, thrown in with the natural beauty of a summer evening, man, woman and the world at one. The garden was to be the thriving hub of social activity, and more importantly, the scene for many battles and allegiances. The mellow orange sky turned to a fierce, angry red as it awaited the clashes of the stars and the coming together of the masses. 


	12. Victims Of Circumstance

Title: Hotter Than July  
  
Rating: PG-13, but R later on...  
  
Disclaimer: The ER characters do not belong to me, neither do any products, song lyrics or literary quotations mentioned.  
  
Summary: Warm weather, flirtation and a few lessons to be learned. Luby. Sort of AU, sort of not.  
  
Reviews: As always, I love to know what you think. This is probably the most serious bit so far, so if you think it is out of place and could do with a serious re-write, I might be up to the challenge!! Thanks.  
  
Author's note: Just want to say a quick thank you to everyone over the last week or so who has put up with my nagging insecurities about my writing, you all know who you are. This fic would not survive without you, I am indebted to you all. Oh and apologies if this part seems a little OOC, I was writing in August 2002, helplessly caught in post-World Cup fever. Yes, I'm an incurable soccer nut!!   
  
Endless metres of thick black industrial cable snaked their way through the short grass, they were the veins and arteries carrying buzzes of electricity to the hastily concocted sound system on the lawn. Music pierced the air with a sharp, pure clarity, blending rather elegantly with a thousand tones of speech, laughter and whispers.   
  
"Are you alright?" Mo asked cautiously, though rather loudly, as his huge headphones distorted his outward perceptions of sound. His question was directed at a quiet Abby, who was patiently sitting on his record case, one eye watching him at work as he spun disc after disc; the other concentrating on another scene. Intrigued, he trailed his vision off in the direction of her eyeline to see what was so interesting.   
  
He smiled to himself as he saw what he now believed, after a few experiences, to be a familiar scene in this garden. Luka was surrounded by a swarm of attractive women who were buzzing about like excited schoolgirls. Abby quickly noted that Mo was now seeing what she was, and said rapidly, with a vibrant injection of humour, "Have I just walked into the Miss America pageant by mistake?" Inside, she knew it was just a vague attempt to suppress the effervescence of jealousy that she felt creeping across her with a damning heat, intense even in the gentle shade. Mo pulled his headphones off his ears down to the back of his neck, then replied sincerely.  
  
"They're all front," he said, trying to liven her mood even more.  
  
"Thanks, I can see that." She replied sharply, misunderstanding him.  
  
Mo laughed vigorously, slapped his mixing desk and shook his head.   
  
"No!! What I meant was, it's all a game. A few years ago, you girls woulda probably complained that a guy only wanted to get you into bed. Now it's all the other way around. I mean, look at them, they're like freakin' vultures!" He pointed to accentuate his point, then added slowly, cautiously, "Any guy with half a brain can see through it."   
  
As she conceded that Luka did in fact have more than half a brain, Mo's quest in making her feel better had succeeded. She liked him, he was original, he told things how they were, something invigorating in a world so filled with falsities and staged pieces of rhetoric.   
  
"You wanna play soccer with us later?" He asked because he really felt as if she were drifting, shying away from the eclectic crowd. In all truth, she preferred one on one conversations and furthermore, Mo was distracting her from that whole other wall of intrigue that had been permeating her thoughts recently. Besides, why should she partake when half of the fun was in the effortless watching?  
  
"No, I'm just gonna sit here and be voyeuristic." "What's going to be the secret of your success?"   
  
She expected a little consideration on the question, but often, Mo found himself not needing to deliberate. "I've lived in a lot of places, I go wherever the music takes me, so I know people from all over the world." He paused, as if for effect. "In my team, diversity will equal unity." He slid the last few inches of Coke in his glass into his mouth.   
  
"That's a very refreshing attitude. Most people wouldn't give a shit."   
  
He grinned at her positive analysis. "You live and you learn. You may have only known me for a little while, but you'll quickly learn that I'm not like most people." He enhanced the importance of saying "most people" by making quote marks around his words with his fingers. Abby nodded, agreeing with him entirely.   
  
"I sure as hell don't know any other guy over thirty who owns so many children's board games." She said, brightly, not an ounce of criticism in her voice.   
  
"You're tellin' me that you don't wanna play Twister, huh?" He asked, incredulously. She laughed and he continued. "I like to have fun. It's not rocket science. We're all just kids inside." "In some of us, the child never dies." She nodded thoughtfully, wondering which segments of her childhood were worth hanging onto, worth carrying into her adult life. Considering that everybody was pieced together from shattered fragments of the past, from bursts of energy, influenced by the shadowy demons that had lurked so menacingly, there were far too many people who had known far too much anguish. Becoming clearer on the mellow, meltingly warm horizon was one of those very people, as Luka had finally broken free from the shackles of adoration.   
  
Mo greeted him with a churlish grin." Any requests?"   
  
"I thought you were the only one who chose the songs," he replied, knowing very well that he was dealing with a man who was very possessive about his playlist.   
  
"Oh, I'm bein' gracious, just for today. What's the matter with you, are your fan club gettin' itchy backs?" Abby rolled her eyes, unsure whether to be disgusted or amused.   
  
"Nothing. I'm just here for my pre-match instructions," he replied, with a crafty smile, wondering why Mo had perceived his mood as an unhappy one.   
  
Mo slapped his mixing desk in amusement, this time a little harder, sending an irritating thud to vibrate the air. He mused for a few seconds then spoke.   
  
  
  
"OK. Let's get one thing straight: you ain't Alen Boksic. You're not here to score goals. Not that he scores that many these days, that guy seems to spend half the game sitting on his butt. You will be wearing the shirt of Italy, so I want less Thierry Henry, more Francesco Totti. It shouldn't be too hard." After listening, Luka nodded in a somewhat non-committal fashion, knowing inside that he had little energy to pretend he was one of the world's greatest soccer players. He decided to switch to something that required little effort and something that, in his workplace, he was well accustomed to, if not always willing to partake in: idle gossip, the very thing that had drifted effortlessly past his ears for the past half an hour or so.   
  
"Did you hear about Natalya?" Natalya was the international superstar that every party begged for, an almost Olympic Russian athlete.   
  
"That she's having an affair with her coach? Damn, I thought I was the only one who knew about that," Mo said, somewhat disappointed that his information was no longer privileged.   
  
"She wasn't exactly being quiet about it." Luka's tone, however, was not one of admiration.   
  
"The woman has no shame." "See what I mean?" Mo turned quickly to Abby, who was lost in deliberation of her subjects, attempting to reinforce his earlier point, then turned back to explain. "We were just having a conversation about faithless women."   
  
"Maybe she doesn't have anything else to believe in," he replied thoughtfully, and rather sadly, before adding, "Do you want anything?" Mo was the kind of person whose appetite for most things was insatiable. Always showing his selflessness, Mo raised his eyebrows at Abby as if to ask her the very same question. She felt rendered slightly incapable of speech, feeling as if she should not interrupt and instead shook her head lightly. After a quick smile, Mo replied. "Tell Remy to get me some more Coke." Luka nodded, then slowly paced away, sunlight trickling down his back like a tropical rainstorm.   
  
In watching him leave, Abby caught a more than insightful glimpse of the rest of the partygoers. Most of them were already dizzy with the hedonistic rush of food, wine and laughter. Their hands clutched eagerly at bottles, cans and wine glasses the way that a frightened child would hold its mother's hand. Mo, however, was more likely to be experiencing a caffeine high as he had consumed countless litres of Coke. Shifting towards him, still sitting on the case, she met his dark eyes with a questioning gaze. Fuelled by her own experiences with the ever-tempting demon that was alcohol, she gently asked, nodding towards the tumultuous crowd, "How come you're not wasted like the rest of them?" She was surprised that his ongoing frivolity was not substance-aided.   
  
Mo was tempted to give her one of the reasons, that he simply thought it was a little pathetic to rely on synthetic substances to enjoy yourself, or simply to say, "What are you, Sherlock Holmes?" But something in her expression seemed to be begging and pleading for a simple, straight explanation.   
  
"I don't drink because they tell me it doesn't go so well with the AZT." Inside, Mo prepared himself for her eyes to be glazed with pity, with what he called "the poor bastard's dying" look but he saw none of this. Instead, Abby was left dumbfounded, shocked and saddened by the mind-numbing cruelty of the world. How could such vibrancy be overshadowed by such misfortune? The sadness almost seemed palpable in the sticky air, a deathly silence was as powerful and quenching as the dry heat. Mo smiled at her ruefully, then found his words.  
  
"C'mon, don't tell me you've never seen a guy with HIV before." His hand gently levered another record onto the spinning turntable of the world, the stylus slipping sadly into another groove of life as sound once again perforated the misty ozone between them. She did not know what to say, more lost for words than ever before. I'm sorry was no compensation. She knew he did not want or need a bucketful of drowning pity. He smiled a grin as perfect as a rainbow.   
  
"Don't sweat it. We're all just victims of circumstance. From the day our parents got horny til they carry us out in a box." She laughed at his hopeful, hopeless, fateful philosophy, but the relief was short-lived as she felt painstakingly angry with anything and everything. This was not how things were meant to happen. Mo took on board the sorrowful expression on her face.  
  
"Hey, will you do me a favour?" He asked slowly, cautiously, considering that she may have been feeling many differing emotions colliding within her head.   
  
"Sure, " Abby replied, knowing somewhere in her heart that she was the one who had nothing to lose.   
  
"Go plant me a cherry tree," he replied, radiating a smile as he dug deep inside his pocket and then gently placed the dry, cracked cherry stone into her warm hand. The sun darted out from behind a solitary white cloud and a beautiful, blood-warm heat prevailed.   
  
*****  
  
  
  
  
  
General mayhem descended in the air when the much-awaited contest began. Red, orange, yellow, ochre and twists of an alien vermilion wrapped together in the flamed, plumed sky, wisps of puffy cloud stretched in the heat haze. The diversity that Mo had talked about in his team was evident. Natalya, the adulterous pole-vault champion, was playing extremely well in high heels, taking every opportunity to graze them against the bare shins of her unwitting opponents. Her best facet, though, was her throw-ins, able to decapitate any man, woman, child or beast at twenty paces. Simon, Mo's Swedish friend, who was a peaceful, high-flying accountant, was doing an excellent job as winger, his curl of dizzy blond hair merging along with the not-so traitorous blue and yellow kit of his home country. And then there was Luka. As he moved towards his opponents with the ball, they flooded away in opposite directions as if he was Moses parting the Red Sea. But, with the score tightly poised at 2-2, with the first to three as the winner, he was finally cornered.  
  
The ball was at his feet, his back to the makeshift "goal", his arms being illegally held back by some guy simply known as "Butch". After a good twenty minutes of fierce competition in a still humid, overflowing garden, he was not in the mood to turn and leave Butch for dead. As appealing as it may have been, as Butch's huge, greasy hands felt sticky and frankly unappealing against his hot skin, he was certain he would not have the energy. Why the hell do I get myself in these situations? He wondered, but knew deep inside that he would go home with a smile. OK, he thought, you're wearing the shirt of one of the world's greatest footballing nations, so what would the professionals do? Suddenly, he knew the answer, as his brain, sleeping under the influence of pure adrenaline, shifted up a gear. Deftly, he backheeled the ball through Butch's clammy, sausage-shaped legs, where, as he had predicted, an eager Mo was hungrily awaiting the pass.  
  
"Sweet!" Mo yelled, in acknowledgement of the perfect pass. Without an ounce of hesitation, he skipped past the last defender, the grass bouncing underneath his feet. With little deliberation, he thundered a left-foot shot past the dozing goalkeeper into the imaginary net. Enraptured with delight, as, forfeits aside, he was a sore loser, he yanked the yellow shirt over his head and threw it on the ground, infused with a sense of victory which buzzed in his bones. Yelling his happiness, he ran, the ground flying away beneath his feet. All eyes knew his destination. Flinging both hands into the air, with a final yelp of triumph, he hurled himself, still half-clothed, into the cool azure blue of the unsuspecting pool. As his frame displaced molecules of pure H2O, his skin caressed by the silky-smooth chlorinous water; he was a man more alive than dying. 


	13. Last Dance

Title: Hotter Than July  
  
Rating: PG-13, but R later on...  
  
Disclaimer: The ER characters do not belong to me, neither do any products, song lyrics or literary quotations mentioned.  
  
Summary: Warm weather, flirtation and a few lessons to be learned. Luby. Sort of AU, sort of not.  
  
Reviews: As always, I appreciate them so much and please keep em coming!!   
  
  
  
Author's note: Just wanted to say a quick thankyou to Sarah for all her advice and thank her so much for reading!!   
  
  
  
"One must still have chaos in oneself in order to give birth to a dancing star." (Nietzsche, Thus Spake Zarathusa)  
  
Under the blood-red sky, the air calm, the crowd of guests mostly exhausted, the conversation buzzing in light, trickling whispers; Abby assessed her own gaze in the narcissistic mirror of the pool's now silent, unmoving water. The cherry stone still seemingly adhered to her palm, she momentarily laid back, flat out on the grass, the green needles tickling the back of her neck and the bare part of her arms. Glinting scarlet high above her echoed her entrapment between sensory pleasure and a timid, slow anger which stirred in her veins. Even though she was well accustomed to feeling despair at the unfair situations that she witnessed day after day, outside of the bright lights of that place that she called "work", it all seemed a thousand times more important. She sat up again, clenching the fist still clutching the stone into a tight ball, to conserve a thousand secrets tight against her warm skin.   
  
  
  
To her surprise, she felt a pair of hands on her back, jolting her forwards with enough force to cause her heart to miss an unimportant beat in a flight of trepidation; but not enough to send her unwittingly crashing into the watery nadir.   
  
"You wouldn't dare," she said to Luka as he slowly, teasingly, almost reluctantly removed his hands from just beneath her shoulders and sat down beside her.   
  
"It's warm, " he replied, casually dipping his fingers in over the edge. She observed him for a few seconds. Gone was the football shirt, the contest over, the moments committed to memory, replaced by the thin cotton of the pale blue shirt he had been wearing earlier.   
  
  
  
"What happened to the soccer shirt?" Her mundane question distracted her from the more urgent, pressing matters in her mind.   
  
"You were right, it started to feel entirely traitorous." She smiled a secret victory into the air in front of her. Behind them, close yet distant, general insanity had prevailed again, the party's pendulum swinging towards craziness for the final time that night. Mo, who had swiftly talked himself into a dry pair of shorts, was now dancing. His finely tuned stereo system was blaring Blame It On The Boogie, he was engaged in a brutal dance with Simon, they could hardly continue as they were overtaken by fits of laughter.   
  
"You didn't tell me that Mo is ill." Abby, could not, strangely enough, bring herself to say "dying". Well, of course, he was; but could possibly make it into later life thanks to the ever-growing efficiency of Western medicine. Luka turned to face her, hearing what almost felt like an accusation in her voice. She even considered this herself, hearing her own words echo back. Perhaps he was an easy scapegoat, since his outer shell was so tough, so formulated and devised from so much turmoil; he would be able to withstand infinite torment. The moment was not an uncomfortable one; instead they exchanged a piercing glance, a connection which could render the most difficult task simple, an entity to make all souls unite.   
  
For her, this was an exquisite blend of torture and ecstasy, a step deeper into the unknown, a pace closer to the blood which pumped in his heart, nearer to the unyielding depths of his soul, chasms of speculation. Heaped on top were the superficial scratchings of blatant desire, a heat in the blood, a natural reaction. For him, this too was an important bond, a search for so many meanings lost and found, an answer to the unanswered questions in the air, a fuel to the flame of intrigue, a deep sense of belonging which permeated into his alienation and set him free. In spite of all this altruism, however, he too felt the beginnings of fervour that had not been easily forgotten creeping through his spine. Luka did not dare close his eyes to shut away this burst of emotion, but instead blinked, as if he were turning the page of a book towards the future.  
  
"It's not part of him. It's not who he is, where he comes from or what he does." Searching for the right words was not so difficult this time, not so riddled with complexities. Sometimes, he could find no words, or at least, not even the right ones, to say, in any language, while in the company of the woman who intrigued him the most. Yet now a fluent cascade of simple, true expression rushed through his head.   
  
"The only time he even thinks about it is when he takes the medication. After that, it doesn't matter anymore." His tone was strikingly affirmative, he knew it was all true. Abby did not comment, still somewhat affected by the look in his eyes. Silence passed between them like an ultimate bond, adhering tightly.   
  
"I understand, Abby. You're angry. You think it's unfair. But Mo doesn't waste his time thinking about it. And neither should you." It was almost a command, she thought, not at all aggrieved that he was seemingly instructing her how to behave. Luka was not being callous or unsympathetic, he was simply illustrating Mo's philosophy on life: live it, because time is precious. It was something, after so many years of being overshadowed by doubt, guilt, grief and a sense of timelessness, that he was beginning to appreciate. In the blurry background of this perfect summer evening, commotion had once again begun to arise. Luka knew exactly what was going on.   
  
"We'd better go. It was Simon's birthday the other day, he's going to get thrown in." He took hold of her hand, compressing the stone between their palms, then with an effortless tug, a ripple of silent power, he pulled her, not ungracefully, not unwillingly, to her feet. The simplest of human contact, his hand in hers was perhaps even more poignant than any words that had been spoken. Their fingers momentarily knitted in a fevered, iron grip; they were holding on.   
  
"Let's go home," he said, speaking with a conviction which seemed to convey that he may have been returning to a place where he felt a little less unfamiliar.  
  
Abby was reluctant to let go, feeling that tiny piece of hard stone bonding them, feeling the positive influence not just of one man, but of both of them. She looked at the sky again, it was crimson with anger and desire, then a soothing rush of slow melodies ran past her ears. Finally finding his eyes, she found her reply with a gentle shake of the head.   
  
"I don't think we should go home just yet."   
  
"Why, exactly?" Luka asked, pulling their joined hands upwards, almost creating a slow rhythm.  
  
"You wouldn't deny a lady the last dance, would you?" She asked this question with an irresistible ease, radiating a smile which she knew would captivate him.   
  
"You know that I'll only step on your toes," he replied, knowing that he was helpless, knowing that he was giving in.   
  
"It might just be worth the pain," she stated, with more than a hint of reflectiveness in her tone.   
  
Nothing else needed to be said. Slowly, they made their way across the grass to where some of the other guests were seemingly drifting along to a mix of soulful ballads and sing-along classics. They slipped as easily into physical intimacy as a hand into a glove, her balled fist gently pinching a tiny piece of his shirt as it rested against his back, one of his palms curved against her shoulder, pulling her almost into an embrace. For a scintillating moment, Luka felt, not simply an uncomplex desire, but a seething bolt of adrenaline, as he knew that these moments with this woman in his arms were some of the few where he felt truly alive again. The tiny whisper of a voice in his head that told him that this was far too dangerous was swiftly silenced. Silenced over his shoulder, as Mo, cautiously selecting the next song, engaged him in a conspiratorial wink.   
  
Inharmoniously, Abby closed her eyes, preserving this intimacy in coloured patterns and distant sounds. The cool cotton of his shirt brushing against her cheek was a beautiful contradiction. In contrast, they were perfect. Her earlier sensory anger was slowly melting away into sensory pleasure. Somebody who was so used to letting go was holding on, and just slightly aware of this, she tightened her closed fist to keep the cherry stone tighter and closer. The past, the present and the future were all dancing in the palm of her hand. Now it was time to let one of them go. 


	14. Madness and Civilisation

Title: Hotter Than July  
  
Rating: PG-13, but R later on...  
  
Disclaimer: The ER characters do not belong to me, neither do any products, song lyrics or literary quotations mentioned.  
  
Summary: Warm weather, flirtation and a few lessons to be learned. Luby. Sort of AU, sort of not.  
  
Reviews: Thank you and please continue to give me your thoughts. I appreciate it :)   
  
  
  
A dusky, humid evening had soon seamlessly merged into a jade-black night; a fistful of stars thrown into a willing sky. Mo, comfortably asleep in the back seat, like a dozing child, was still ever-present as his latest home-made compilation of songs spun in the CD player. Tired of noise, but feeling suitably refreshed by the cool air breezing through the barely open window, Abby pressed the eject button hard and the disc spat itself angrily out of the car's expensive sound system. Clearly, music did not often cease while Mo was in the vicinity.  
  
"You don't mind?" She asked Luka, who appeared to have read her earlier thoughts as he was actually adhering to the speed limit. You live and you learn.  
  
"No, it's OK," he replied brightly, his words cutting through the now silent darkness.  
  
"Does this have a case?" She questioned, gripping the edges of the disc cautiously between her fingertips.  
  
"In there," he signalled, his right hand shooting out towards the glove compartment, filling her with a blend of fear and excitement as for a moment she wondered just what exactly he was about to do with his hand. Grow up, she chastised herself, despite feeling a rush of exhilaration momentarily surge in her bloodstream.   
  
Desperately searching for a distraction, Abby opened the compartment confidently but soon found its contents raining onto her thighs.   
  
"Shit!" She exclaimed, as a nearly empty packet of sweets emptied a dusting of sugar over the dark denim of her shorts; followed by a cascade of CD cases. She laughed, a little glad that it was such a trivial moment which aggrieved her now. After shoving the CDs ruthlessly back into the compartment, she peered speculatively into the bag.  
  
"Can I tempt you with a cherry-cola fizz?" There was only one in the bag. She asked, brightly.  
  
Luka gave her an amused glance, before paying a little more attention to the mess she had inadvertently made.   
  
"No. I could use a little sugar, though."  
  
Fuelled by his humorous, almost audacious comment, she emptied the final grains lingering in the bag onto his lap. He glanced at her in mock anger out of the corner of his eye before coming to a standstill as the brilliant red of a traffic light shone in the blackness.   
  
"You asked for it," Abby said firmly in her defence, reading the intention in his gaze.  
  
"You're crazy," he replied, feeling a little breathless, pleasantly amused.   
  
"Runs in the family," she quipped, managing a half-satisfied grin. He was a little surprised to see a glimmer of happiness on her face. But, then again, there was a fine line between comedy and tragedy.   
  
"Are things better now? With your brother?" Luka asked, daring to unravel her mysteries just as she was willing to decipher his codes. As he had known little insight into her continuing troubles, he was more than willing to give her the chance to unburden. He was expecting an immediate closed door, another wall of deafening silence to create an unwanted chasm between them.   
  
Abby leant thoughtfully against the window, feeling the cold rush of air as an almost painful, yet cool caress. Her first instinct had been to say that at first, it had felt much like a war, with Eric as the sacred territory that both her and her mother had longed to stake a claim on. But, knowing that this was an uncomfortable analogy, and furthermore, that most of the nightmare had been lived out now, she reconsidered.   
  
"Yeah, I guess so. It's not...unfamiliar ground," she said, sadness tingeing her tone.  
  
"Even so, it can't have been easy." He knew how these things worked, you got one piece of bad news, another followed, then came the snowball effect and you were suffocating under a horrendous avalanche of fear and despair.  
  
"It wasn't." Abby corrected herself, "It isn't," knowing full well that mental illness never completely faded away, it was always there, to trap and harass.   
  
  
  
A brilliant green, the colour of absinthe and emeralds shone deeply in their eyes and they moved on towards the gaping arms of the future, the car seemingly gliding beneath them.   
  
She continued to unburden, wanting to give him a piece of herself, a piece that was not purely physical or simply sarcastic.   
  
"It's weird because part of me...," she hesitated, not knowing why, "Feels guilty."   
  
Luka met her eyes with a sympathetic, empathetic gaze, wondering just how many times he would have to convince her that she could not always bear the blame on her tired shoulders. Of course, it was a fragment of a glance, as he quickly shifted his eyes back to the road in front of him.   
  
"Why? Nobody is to blame," he said, his words close to an affirmation.   
  
  
  
"I know," Abby replied, in a tone just as definite as his. "I just feel like I'm the lucky one, not having to suffer the consequences of screwed-up genetics." "Not being able to understand what it's really like." Perhaps what had hurt her the most at the outset was being ruthlessly excluded on account of never being able to understand exactly what it felt like to suffer such an affliction. Well, she understood alright, even if it was only from the outside looking in almost helplessly at those shadowy, recurring demons.   
  
"Maybe it would've been easier if we were all crazy," she said, half-smiling, half-serious.   
  
"You don't mean that." More assertion thickened the air, even though she had tried to make light of the situation, he was able to read her speculation perfectly.   
  
"Maybe not," Abby said casually, trying hard to disguise the fact that he was probably right. A ship of sanity is always afloat in an insane sea.   
  
She watched, grinning effortlessly as they came to a standstill again, as he casually began to brush the sugar away from his clothes; with care not to get any on the expensive upholstery.   
  
"Sorry about that, it was very immature of me." She didn't really mean that and was very pleased that her frivolous voice easily communicated her indifference.  
  
  
  
"Don't worry, I probably need sweetening up," Luka replied, eyeline firmly on the road.  
  
"That makes two of us," Abby replied, submitting to a smile while deciding to take the same course of positive action by scraping the sugar away from her clothes. A rustle permeated the air as the precise suspension levered the car across a bridge. She glanced over her shoulder, Mo stirred but did not wake.   
  
"I wonder what he's dreaming about," she said, speculatively, turning back to the darkness in front of her eyes.  
  
"Singing concerts all over the world," Luka said, affirmatively.  
  
Mo often played little sets in the city, at least once a week. To say that he was good was a painful understatement. Whether performing his own compositions or making his individual interpretations of classics, his audience were left mesmerised by his individual talent, backed by his loyal band, most of whom had floated around at the party.  
  
"Listening to him sing is like...." He searched his ever-growing vocabulary for the right expression. "A mystical experience," hoping that this did not sound too extravagant.   
  
"Haven't had one of those in a while," Abby said frankly, with a little more bravado than she had expected.   
  
"And there was me thinkin' you were an atheist," she added slowly, attempting to not step on any emotional land mines.   
  
Luka permitted himself a wistful smile. "Things can change," he said, sharply, not necessarily indicating that anything actually had, without being wholly pessimistic.  
  
  
  
"What do you dream about then?" Abby asked, brightly, having given her emotional quarter, she was hoping for a little in return.   
  
Dreams? He thought, as he watched the tarmac glide in front of his eyes. If I tell you about the dreams, I daren't tell you about the nightmares. What dreams? He knew relatively little about peaceful, drifting reverie but was well-acquainted with harrowing night-time flashbacks. Often, the stark contrast of white bones rotting in the dark, bitter earth was not just a vision in the darkness. It was also an image intensified by the light of day, shooting from the subconscious into the conscious: a danger that was always there. When events that had affected you so profoundly returned, they did so with almost twice the intensity of the actual moment, as if it were a new punishment, another guilt trip.   
  
Luka blinked hard, shutting away whatever image may have dared to trouble him. Remembering there had been a question asked not so long ago, he found a response, albeit a rather negative one.   
  
"I don't think there's much left to aspire to." Things fall apart. What was the point in dreaming when only a nightmare prevailed? He considered this more deeply as they came to another stop just outside the city. He knew very well that if the man who was asleep behind him had heard his words then he probably would've received a swift slap in the face. So it was time to expel the plaguing thoughts and focus on something else. He turned to face Abby, as she had not replied, he feared that she too had succumbed to the temptation of sleep. Yet she was awake, seemingly as lost in thought as he had been. He smiled, pleased to see that evidently, they were still extremely able to mess with each other's heads.   
  
"You want me to take you home first?" His voice caused a gentle ripple in the still, sleepy, drugged air.  
  
She grinned and looked over her shoulder. "Aren't you gonna need some help with Sleeping Beauty and his stereo?"   
  
Luka smirked at the prospect of Mo as Sleeping Beauty.   
  
"I only have to wake him up."  
  
"He's been asleep for so long it'd be cruel to wake him up now."   
  
"Does that mean that you're volunteering to carry him up all the stairs?" He asked, glancing casually in her direction.   
  
"No, but I think you are. Besides, I would love to see how Mo lives."   
  
Abby spoke with a vibrancy which betrayed the tiredness in her body.   
  
"You won't be disappointed," he said slowly, the depth of his voice articulating the depth of the mystery. There was more to discover, more to unravel. 


	15. The Sleep of the Good

Title: Hotter Than July  
  
Rating: PG-13, but R later on...  
  
Disclaimer: The ER characters do not belong to me, neither do any products, song lyrics or literary quotations mentioned.  
  
Summary: Warm weather, flirtation and a few lessons to be learned. Luby. Sort of AU, sort of not.  
  
Reviews: Please, the comments keep me writing :)  
  
Author's note: Apologies for a longer hiatus than usual, I am now getting to the stage where I am running out of the chapters saved on my hard-drive and need to get typing up the next few bits. But I'm on track for now :)   
  
Moments later, they were sitting in the parked car, quiet, still in the now cool, fresh summer night. Luka switched off the engine, slid the key from the ignition and rested his palms against his legs before sitting back in the seat and closing his eyes. He tracked back through his memories of the last couple of hours as if he were rewinding a tape. Yes, he was certain that he had not imagined anything. The elusive goal had been reached: they had each attempted to explain their emotions: to each other. Despite knowing that they both adored the sweet silence of communication which often passed between them, which often had the volume of a primal scream; this was a way forward.   
  
Yet still, so many questions remained unanswered. Why was she a single woman? He did not know, it almost felt like a trick, the cruellest trick, but it was not. She must have been asking so many questions too, he thought, she must be wondering why I can smile these days. The question mark had become like a sickle, hacking away at the fields of their feelings. But once something had been cut away, could a new beginning prevail? If they attempted to answer the questions, would it work? Could the flickers of light that had promised so much so long ago prevail? Positive action was the only thing that could dispel the questions from being shot back and forth in his mind like crazy pinballs. So, he got out of the car, aware that perhaps Abby was taking her usual pleasure of assessing him as she followed suit.   
  
Well, he concluded. If the lady wants some entertainment, she can have it. A thick, wide beam of moonlight scarred the paintwork as he cautiously opened the back door, with the care of a crime scene investigator. Luka shook his head in disbelief as he observed that Mo had rather carelessly chosen not to wear a seatbelt. Cautiously, he rummaged inside his friend's pockets until he found a set of keys, and quickly wrapped his fingers around them. Silver caught on silver, and he became even more aware of the beauty of this somewhat surreal night. You may as damn well howl at it, he thought, as he slid one arm under Mo's shoulders, the other under his legs, and then pulled him out. At first, there was nothing, no pain, no effect, as if he were carrying a feather. Then came the full realisation of the weight in his arms, his muscles screaming for mercy.   
  
He cursed aloud in his native language, a base, instinctual cry for help, then he wondered why, as nobody here would understand. Keys tangled agonisingly around his fingers, he attempted to hand them to Abby, who was amused at the pained expression on his face.  
  
"Don't be such a wimp," she teased, feeling the mild air catch her bare arms.  
  
"Come on then, Abby, indulge me. One hundred and sixty pounds of Mo, all yours," he said, extending his arms speculatively, offering her the burden of his weight.   
  
"I'll go and open the door," she replied, managing to untangle the keys from his fingers. She stood still for a lingering moment, submitting to a grin at the stupidity of the image. The mercurial sheen of pure moonlight seemed to frame the picture perfectly: even though it would have seemed more fitting in a desolate wasteland. In reality, however, it was little more than a favour to a friend, doubled as a comic act.   
  
She went inside, swiftly climbing the dimly lit stairs and then sat waiting outside Mo's door, feeling as if it would be wrong to go in alone. More quickly than she had expected she was joined by Luka, Mo's sleeping figure visibly straining in his arms.  
  
"I can't believe you made me do this. My muscles hate you."   
  
"That hasn't always been the case," she replied swiftly, easily, turning away to place the key in the lock. Despite this, she could feel his gaze burning on her back. Although he allowed himself to admit that he was enjoying her flirtatious state, tension had seized him in an iron grip, pain searing through every nerve ending.  
  
"Please just open the door," he begged, without a hint of melodrama.   
  
Their eyes met briefly as he shot through the open door like a bullet, then he placed his friend on the sofa, mystified that he hadn't awoken. Still, there was little wrong with a deep, peaceful sleep, he concluded.   
  
"C'mon Luka, do the decent thing and tuck him in," Abby said, frivolity running through her words, dancing the keys in her fingers.  
  
"I thought I'd save that privilege for you," Luka replied, with a hint of a smile.   
  
She grinned, gently placing the keys on the side. She scanned the room eagerly, moving deeper into the darkness, noticing that the room was sliced in two by the natural light. The room was dominated by a black concert piano, its lid closed, thin sheets of manuscript paper dashed on top.   
  
Full of restlessness, Abby inspected it, running a finger slowly across its cold surface. There was no trace of dust, nothing. The piano was next to the window, the lights of faraway buildings and streets barely reflected in the black lacquered sheen; the macrocosm of urbanism turned into a simple, tiny image. In order to admire the view for a moment, she put her hands by her sides and levered herself onto the piano. She stroked her hair out of her eyes and exhaled.   
  
"What are you doing?" She asked, her words jumping in the quiet darkness as she heard rummaging in the background.   
  
"Writing him a note. Otherwise he'll think the fairies brought him home."   
  
Luka glanced up from the pen and paper that he had pushed into the moonlight to look at her. She was half light, half shadows, and he felt his emotions stir uncomfortably. Maybe she would always be half revealed and half mystery, perhaps this was the way it would always be. Always chasing after each other's shadows. And were there always more shadows than light when they only ever gave away fragments of emotion? He felt fire burn in his arms as he longed to pick her up and move her a few inches to the left, to immerse her completely in intense silver light.   
  
As if some psychic connection had buzzed an electrical pulse between them, she seemed to read his mind as she got up and paced across the room. The sharp light had illuminated a collage of pictures on the wall, a frame crammed full of shots of stars. Elvis gyrating wildly, Stevie Wonder at the piano, Michael Jackson in his Moonwalker days, Elton John in a ridiculous outfit to name just a few. Clearly, Mo was a man who knew his idols and furthermore knew that he too wanted a place in history. Before her thoughts drifted off to history, the past, Abby was again interrupted by trickles of noise. "It's not meant to be your autobiography," she chastised, fighting off a plague of languor creeping through her.   
  
  
  
"I'm just taking care of the animals," Luka replied in his defence. His sight illuminated by the stark glow of UV light, he peered through the dark where inside a reasonably large tank was Eve, Mo's boa-constrictor. As fearlessly as ever, he removed the lid, checked where it's head was and lifted it out to check whether she had been fed. Feeling idiotic as he held her out, he swiftly coiled the snake around his neck and then turned around.  
  
"Say hello to Eve," he said quickly, quietly as he felt the odd, reptilian skin slide against his neck. There were worse feelings in the world, undeniably.   
  
"What happened to Adam?"   
  
"He escaped," he replied, nonchalantly, now close enough to read all the expressions on her face, despite the enchanting, capturing blankets of darkness.  
  
Abby swiftly suppressed a yawn. "Really?" She questioned, not particularly amused at the thought of a snake on the loose in the vicinity.   
  
"No, but it was worth it to see the look on your face."   
  
She rolled her eyes, tired but content.   
  
"Besides," Luka continued, "This one doesn't bite, she's just squeezing me to death right now." He spoke swiftly as the snake began to tighten around his neck. This was, Mo had assured him, the snake's way of showing that she cared. Yeah, right, sure, he thought.  
  
"Well, that's comforting to know," she replied dryly, somehow feeling forcibly pulled into this situation.  
  
  
  
Circuits of thought trailed through her, but her aching limbs were winning the battle, so she crossed the room again and slumped into the empty seat next to Mo's sleeping frame. The plush, soft cushions accepted her as readily as a lover's arms. After what felt like a thousand revelations tonight, she felt compelled, almost desperate to stay here in Luka's company. Even as he stood there, taking care of all things, his friend's reptile, she was almost convinced that now, he was less elusive. Not that this made him less of a magnetic force which she could never be repelled from. Whatever stars had rearranged, whatever cells had died and been reborn, no matter how many days and nights had passed, something had changed. Or maybe this was not a change but a mere return to the former self, a rediscovery of an undestroyed man? How the hell do I know? But did anybody ever really change? Her thoughts began to subside and tiredness then convinced her that the reasons did not matter, she was here, she was having a good time; she should stop plaguing herself with doubts and questions. Closing her eyes to shut away the illuminating truth of the moonlight, a simple peace finally arrived.  
  
Carefully, Luka placed the snake back in her tank. She rustled for a moment, then he replaced the lid cautiously. Out of curiosity he examined the luminous dial of his watch, confirming that it was quarter to twelve. Glancing up, he caught a glimpse of the view; a cityscape of shadows, lights, sounds, thriving, not still, medieval and quiet. The night was as perfect as the day had been, now the early morning was lurking. He moved slowly into the half-light, then felt a wave of sadness sweep across him. Both of his companions were now silently sleeping in the milky darkness. Well, I must be the most exciting guy on the planet! He thought, pressing his hands against the small of his back as he considered what to do. Was it acceptable to leave Abby sleeping there next to Mo? Knowing Mo as he did, he suspected that his friend would wake in the dead in the morning, realise that he had an audience, albeit a sleeping one, and start singing "You Are The Sunshine Of My Life."   
  
He exhaled sharply, hoping to find some kind of answer, puzzled by the strangeness of the situation, he had faced far more important dilemmas than this one. Half an answer clicked in his head. Although it seemed entirely risky in an odd sort of way, he decided that he would take her downstairs in much the same fashion as he had brought Mo upstairs. Then she could sleep on his sofa until she awoke, then he would take her home. He felt it was somehow wrong or unfair to wake her. Surely this was a better, more familiar option than leaving her there? Thinking ahead of himself, he shot downstairs and opened his door, pleased to see that he could keep it open with the heavy black amp which was still there.  
  
As quickly as he had left he had returned, and stood silently in the rich shadows searching for something to keep the door to Mo's apartment temporarily open. Slightly to his left there was a box full of books, which was reasonably heavy. Shifting it as quietly as he could, it soon fulfilled its purpose adequately. Luka stood there again, contemplative and restless. What if she awoke half way down the stairs? Finally deciding that she would not be overly pleased if he left her sleeping next to a virtual stranger, his plan of action made sense. So, with much more caution than he had used minutes before with Mo, with one arm behind her shoulders, the other slid behind her legs, he lifted her from the sofa. As if in a dream, her body seemed weightless, floating against him. But his was no dream. Momentarily he closed his eyes in a silent plea, begging that she would not wake.   
  
He opened his eyes again and as he moved towards the door, the gloom of the corridor beckoning, he did not dare move his gaze from her sleeping face. As thoughts turned and turned in his head, his body seemed to react, as he shifted her slightly around. A flicker as eloquent as a dark whisper seemed to pass across her face. Abby continued to sleep, much to Luka's immediate relief. All the light appeared to be mixing more deeply now, moonlight from one side, darkness from the other, the opal dimness of electric light gaping from the corridor. The future was beckoning in different shades, conflicting colours. He exhaled deeply as he reached the door, the expulsion of breath feeling like a breeze in the stillness. He moved the box cautiously with his foot, moved rapidly out of the door and watched thankfully as it closed, slowly, silently, securely.   
  
On the way down, every step seemed like an eternity, he could neither loosen nor tighten his safe grip. Images began to trip through his consciousness as he saw, frame by frame, other bodies resting in his arms. His daughter, dead, still, all of him broken. Maria, dying. Under the sun. Nothing moving. Mo, dying. But at the same time alive. Abby. Alive. Unaware. As close and as distant as ever. If she was the future and the others were fragments of the past, then the future was promising. Blood in its veins, air in its lungs; a thudding, beating heart. Thinking about her heart was a somewhat dangerous thing to do, but danger and Luka were good friends. Old acquaintances time and time again. As he passed through the door, easily managing to avoid the Coke bottles still on the floor, he felt as if some sort of burden had been lifted from his shoulders.   
  
Slowly, he laid her on the couch, curled like a foetus, her hair a majestic tangle, a beautiful disarray. Imperfect. As ambiguous as the night around her unconscious form, which was readily slipping into the day. He went back and closed the door quietly, the air sucking backwards, making him aware of the cool night air filtering in through the window. It was refreshing but he quickly became concerned that it was somehow cold. His head seemingly full of practical ideas, he went out of the room, yanked one of the top sheets from his bed, folded it in half and swiftly returned. Draping the rich, dark purple cotton across her sleeping figure, he felt a little sad, seeing her both near and far in one breath. The vivid colour began to turn a deep indigo in the even deeper darkness. Luka retired to an armchair and shut off his thoughts for a second. Now came the waiting. 


	16. Monologue at 3 am

Title: Hotter Than July  
  
Rating: PG-13, but R later on...  
  
Disclaimer: The ER characters do not belong to me, neither do any products, song lyrics or literary quotations mentioned.  
  
Summary: Warm weather, flirtation and a few lessons to be learned. Luby. Sort of AU, sort of not.  
  
Reviews: I know this story must be agony to read as it is a real slow-burner but please bear with me and continue with your thoughts, I appreciate them soo much, thanks!! :)  
  
Author's note: A little more strong language here. Oh and I slipped into a little first person narrative in this chapter, hope it makes sense, it just felt right so I went with the flow LOL. :) I have also dealt with some post-Congo stuff for the first time in this story, but I think it fits in OK..I hope!!  
  
Acknowledgement: I owe the image of a "social butterfly" entirely to my good friend Natasha, so thanks girl!!   
  
One eye closed, then opened again, like a camera taking a picture, recording an image. Something was different, something was familiar, it was neither dark nor light. Warm, soft cotton rested against warmer skin, a sensory chaos. After a few flickering heartbeats of confusion, Abby opened both eyes, sat up slowly from being curled up, aware of a sharp pain in her side. Her vision accustomed slowly to the dusky haze, she felt as if there was a presence in the room, slight breathing, something else. Her mind backtracked through the images of the night. The answer finally came with an intense beam of light. It contracted her pupils rapidly, as electric blue crashed across them with a searing crackle. In that flash of powerful nature, shapes became recognisable, blurs became clearer and she knew where she was. But was slightly unsure why. She turned onto her other side, aware that the pain was coming from her keys digging in her pocket, she faced her unexpected companion, resting her cheek against her forearm.  
  
"Did I fall asleep here?" Abby's voice was a little scratchy from sleep.  
  
"No, upstairs. I didn't think you would be too pleased with me if I'd left you up there."   
  
Now she remembered. Closing her eyes after sitting down. With a creeping smile, she considered her safe passage from there to here, almost certain that she had experienced the same journey as Mo: in the arms of a mysterious friend.   
  
"I'd have forgiven you eventually," she replied slowly, wondering if she always was forgiving him, or even vice versa. "What time is it?"  
  
He read his watch cautiously. "Quarter to three." Any thoughts or speech were then quickly interrupted by another pulse of pure electricity bursting through the early morning atmosphere. Violet, blue and orange fizzed against black and grey for a few chemical moments, then dissipated along with static crackles of sound. As quickly as it came, it was gone, lost in time.   
  
  
  
Intrigued by the storm, Luka got up and went to the window. The sky had unfolded in swirling layers of matt black and pale grey, dotted with the luminous neon of the city and the optimistic twinkle of a few stars. Night was battling against the inevitable onset of day. Lightning came again, with a dry growl, a redder, more intense flash of dangerous power.   
  
"It's the dry weather that creates all the storms," he said quietly, sliding his hands into the pockets of his jeans, attempting to create a little normality.   
  
Abby was suddenly reminded of the sheer eloquence of his voice, as in the confusing mix of shadows, light and dark, it was the only thing that made any sense. She blinked hard to dispel the possibility that she was lost in some sort of dream.   
  
"You want me to take you home now?" No, I'm not dreaming, she thought, because if I was dreaming, he wouldn't be asking me that question...  
  
Then she wondered why she should be so hasty to rid her mind of a little intense thought about the man who crept over her senses much like a storm: with a passionate violence. Not with violence in the sense of physical harm but with an intensity and power all the same.   
  
"It'll be light in a few hours. I'll stay right here if that's okay with you?" She was wearing the mask of convenience, but inside she was being hopelessly sucked into this strange situation.   
  
"Sure," he replied, slightly mesmerised by her words, the city all powdery and sulphurous before him. As Luka paced back to sit down again, his hands still dug deep in his pockets, Abby sat up, slowly removing her shoes.   
  
She sat up more fully, then dug her hands into her pockets in order to remove the contents that had caused her earlier discomfort.   
  
"You want some light?"   
  
"No, it's okay," she replied, feeling the strange condolence of the early morning as a welcome surrounding. She did not want to sleep, she wanted to talk until she was exhausted. There were reasons, questions, doubts and securities still buzzing about like a swarm of insects; she craved communication. The first object she removed was her keys, feeling their sharp edges grate against her nails, fumbling in the darkness. Next came $20, then her cigarettes, lighter resting safely inside. She opened the packet and peered inside, squinting in the darkness. Three. The holy trinity, the magic number. Abby discarded them with an air of nonchalance, feeling no craving.   
  
Luka watched her shifting almost chaotically in the darkness, enjoying the simplicity of the moment, the beauty of her random activity. He had witnessed so much of her turmoil; to see just the simple things comforted him. The little things were the easiest things to miss, but sometimes they were the things that meant so much. Everything she had possessed was now scattered illogically across his coffee table. Turning back more comfortably on her side, Abby fixed Luka with an intense, questioning gaze, which he could sense through the discoloured atmosphere.  
  
"Why aren't you asleep?"   
  
"I felt like being a creature of the night," he replied, not entirely sure why he had sat, patient and attentive, hearing the slow sound of her shallow breathing while she slept. Some things were just irrational.   
  
"Morning," she corrected, all too aware of this ambiguous trap between the day and the night.   
  
"It can't be morning, you seem to be in a good mood," he replied, allowing himself an ounce of reminiscence.   
  
Abby laughed sarcastically. "This comes from you, Mr 'I'm sorry boss I can't get my ass out of bed'."   
  
"It's sorted out now," Luka replied confidently, wondering if he would ever get that kick out of bed. He smiled a wicked grin in the twilight, which preserved his intimate thought as a purely personal one.  
  
Silence ensued, except for a few more rumbles of thunder teeming through the charged atmosphere. The only light in the room came from the occasional bolt of lightning cutting through the darkness, shards of moonlight which were now fading away and the voluminous lilac glow of the fish tank. Abby rested her palm against her cheek, thoughtfully soaking up the scene around her. What the hell am I doing here? If such a thing as fate existed then it had thrown her into this odd space, displaced yet at home, in a familiar surrounding. Yet another victim of circumstance. She was fixing her gaze on him so hard that her pupils must have felt like burning lasers. So many questions. It was the dead of the morning, the city sleeping and thriving, living and dying. Here she was, not in the safe normality of her bed, or the dangerous uncertainty of work, but here, awake and desperate to communicate. Time for a roll of the dice. Nothing ventured, nothing gained.   
  
"Tell me something," she said, quietly, with hesitancy catching around her words.  
  
"What do you want to know?" He asked, wondering what exactly was so intriguing, needing to be lead along some path of speculation. Her eyes became wide, from surprise at such openness. What do I want to know? Everything, she thought. But asking for everything was asking for too much.   
  
"What has made such a difference in your life?" If she had been prone to reading cheap romance novels, Abby would have expected a quick, resonant "You" and a sweeping hurricane of passion to follow. Thank God for J.D Salinger, she thought with a quick grin. As opposed to JD and Coke, that other frighteningly real discourse in her life. One that was thankfully, comfortably under control. The quiet was ringing in her ears like tinnitus, like fingernails scratching along a blackboard, frustrating her. No response. But then, this was not an easy question to answer in a few mere seconds.  
  
"Come and sit with me." She was aware not only of the fact that she was grabbing hold of the situation with both hands, but also that there was too much space and darkness between them. Her eyes were pleading gently as she swiftly swirled the sheet closer to her body, building a thin layer of protection against the crisp air that circulated in the room.  
  
Confused, amused and somewhat enchanted, Luka got to his feet. Remembering his earlier thoughts, the flowing river of simplicity that had been their earlier conversation, he decided this could only be a positive move. Molecules of air, light and, sound displaced around his frame as he moved across to where she was sitting. Abby quickly moved so that there was enough room to accommodate both of them, hugging her knees to her chest. A strikingly defensive move for a woman attempting to unpick the intricate weave of Luka's emotions. He cautiously brushed aside the loose part of the sheet with his fingertips, then blinked as his eyes registered the change in light. From here he could seemingly see every expression on her face. In a simple action, a void had been validated, a gap plugged. Luka finally sat down, facing in the direction he had just come from, resting his face in his hands, feeling the tension in his forearms. She saw it too, the stretching of his muscles rending her still with the agonies of desire.   
  
Abby closed her eyes momentarily, searching for that mode she knew all too well, the shut-off, the blocking of emotion. Time and time again she had learned to appear unaffected while inside she was being churned and tortured. But this was different. She knew it was important to block the easy path to lust and to take the difficult road of conversation.   
  
"I'm not quite sure how to put it into words." "Maybe I speak too many languages." Luka's admission did not trouble him as much as he thought it would. In fact, it was sort of funny in a way. The ripple of her laughter circling about in his eardrums was aural bliss. Not only was she beautiful when she smiled, but her laugh was a precious rush of rare delight which enveloped him with a wonderful totality. In nightmares he had dreamt that he would never be able to let anything affect him so powerfully again. He was human, he was wrong.   
  
  
  
"Did Africa really heal you?" It was his turn to laugh, at was undeniably a somewhat absurd question. Could such harrowing experiences really be curative?  
  
"It reminded me that I have a strange habit of surviving." He knitted his fingers together, avoiding her gaze. In contrast, Abby looked at him deeply, catching the glint of sadness in his eyes. But it was so slight it would have gone unnoticed to one untrained in his emotions.   
  
"That's a good habit to have, right?" She asked, unsure why she was asking for assurances, while casting her gaze towards her abandoned possessions on the table. I'm the one with the addictive personality, she thought.   
  
"I used to think that survival was all about guilt, and it was, but now it's about...second chances. I'm still here, and I have to be thankful for that." Even if the guilt of surviving while the people he loved died would tug forever, which he knew it would, all the blood, marrow, flesh, cells and impulses remained; a life was certainly something to celebrate. Saved by a religious symbol. The irony. If survival was but a mere grain of fine, fragile sand, then life was a beach with a clear, turquoise sea lapping at its shore.   
  
"Did being sent to Myers help as well?" Despite the fact that Abby suspected that perhaps Luka's reasonably placid, untroubled demeanour had most probably been created by more than a few doses of Mo, she was quick not to submit to such a simple belief. Happiness, for either of them, would never run in a straight line; it had to be formulated from deviating shapes and twisting, unpredictable bends.  
  
"Nothing is sacred in those walls, is it?" He angled an almost hurtful gaze towards her, having believed that the deepest extent of his past behaviour and turmoil had remained masked.  
  
"It wasn't office gossip. I saw your file on the desk when I took Eric to see him." Luka was not sure whether to be relieved or saddened, and then added with a slight, jagged cut of vitriol, "You should have damn well burned it."   
  
All those files, all those misdemeanours gathering dust and time in old cabinets in abandoned rooms. All those false, true, distorted histories.  
  
"He was all outta gas and matches." Abby replied with a wry smile, imagining a bewildered Myers attempting to stifle an impromptu bonfire on his desk. He laughed, knowing that her humorous tact could unwind him into a thousand confessions.   
  
"It was a counter-productive experience. I didn't want to share those things with a virtual stranger." "Those things" needed little articulation. She was not surprised. He had barely shared his intimate thoughts with her, despite having traced every curve of her body with his fingertips. Maybe tonight was a turning point.   
  
Abby looked at him again, with that thought firmly etched in her mind.   
  
"Some people don't have a choice." Her reflection was pained, saddened but not provocative.   
  
"I'm sure he studied his books like a good psychiatrist, but it was pointless." Luka was seemingly mocking that Western canon of psychoanalysis which was an important part of their profession. But then again, was it time to reassess? He hadn't exactly been a model patient, bombarding the unfortunate Myers with an outpouring of events which almost made him seem outwardly nonchalant. Yet inside his blood had been enraged with an aching cataclysm of destructive emotion.   
  
"So what's the solution, then, Dr Freud?" Her mockery was almost as acidic and punishing as his own. A careless shrug seemed to envelop him whole. Why did she always want the all the answers? He was not aware of anybody else who was so willing to construct a philosophy on his life, despite the agony and frustration it must have caused. This woman was one in a million. Something inside him was reminding him that this time around, he should not be so willing to let her go. Not to cast her away into the cold night air of the city with his vile words hanging around her neck like unpolished pearls.   
  
"I guess you just have to work out these things on your own sometimes." No kidding, he thought, speculating on his own words. I fucked hookers, I drank all the vodka Russia dared to export, I was grossly incompetent; I hit the bottom and I dragged myself out again. Then, it would seem, other people and other things started to intervene. I almost died, twice; I didn't get a bullet through the head, but a simple flick of the mosquito's tail could have proved to be just as deadly. I never missed a dose of Mefloquine and I still got infected. Story of my life. But I had no time for self-pity, I had to recover. Then I found all these people bowling their way into my life. Not least Mo, who bowls his way into most people's lives with a thundering strike.   
  
Now there was Abby, the only thing both constant and inconstant in my life. But this time I was the one waiting for the answer.   
  
"It can't be that easy." He caught the hurt in her eyes quickly with a casual glance in her direction. Abby was not as troubled as she appeared. His admission that he had found his way alone left her a little sad, wondering if there was room for anyone else. But, in contrast, she understood the developmental warmth of that solo space. She had not found herself simply lingering in some sort of post-Carter paradise, and had needed a little room to attempt to find some peace again. Existing in such an insular mindset was not entirely detrimental, and did not necessarily mean an isolation from the people that cared about you. Images of earlier flashed through her head, alight and alive in the mixed palette of a colourless early morning. Isolated was certainly not the word to describe Luka at that party. More like supposed cocooned quantity into social butterfly. Abby thought of Gordana's description of a smiling, laughing man that almost felt fictitious. But now it did not seem so untrue. Not that there had not been glimpses. She knew the Malucci head-to-hand gluing incident would always be memorable.   
  
  
  
"I didn't say that it is," he replied, without sadness, with a hard directness. Luka had been cautious not to use the word "was". Self-progression was seemingly never complete. For the first time in some time, he dragged his eyes from hers and turned towards the window. Outside, dawn seemed reluctant to break, the colours never changing, the sky silent and still. A glance at the dial of his watch confirmed the time as quarter past three. Half an hour of discussion had felt like a lifetime, and he knew that time was now unimportant, so he removed the heavy burden of chronology from his wrist, placing it on the table with Abby's dispersed possessions. He gazed at those material things and felt vacant. He could feel the unconscious mutual intrigue still buzzing between, static and vibrant in the air. It had all the power of dreams and all the pain of reality. It was time to find the middle ground, to close the spaces.  
  
"Tell me why you're not married to a millionaire." Even if he had given scant, partial details, he had recognised the reasoning, the changes inside that were tantamount to a thousand connections. To learn to be together, they had to learn to be apart. But maybe he still had so much to learn, as with a painstakingly slow movement, Abby hurled back the sheet and got to her feet, seemingly heading for the door. 


	17. The Early Purges

Title: Hotter Than July  
  
Rating: PG-13, but R later on...  
  
Disclaimer: The ER characters do not belong to me, neither do any products, song lyrics or literary quotations mentioned.  
  
Summary: Warm weather, flirtation and a few lessons to be learned. Luby. Sort of AU, sort of not.  
  
Reviews: Please, it's taken me the best part of a week to get this how I wanted it to be, I appreciate your thoughts as always :)   
  
Author's note: I slipped into a little first person yet again, just to even things up in light of the last chapter :)   
  
  
  
Heartbeats echoed hard, pulsing back off the angular walls, still blanketed in unnatural shades of dark and light. A few shadows formed, movement continued and the silence was painful. Slowly, and thankfully, Luka realised that his gripping, momentary fear had been unfounded, and that Abby was not heading for the door, but for the fridge. She went to open it, but then reconsidered, and flicked her hair backwards in a gesture that was deceptively sexual. God knows why I just did that, she thought, aware of everything.   
  
"Can I get something to eat?" Dinner seemed a distant memory and although she was not prone to midnight feasts, she was awake and feeling hunger burn in her stomach like a ball of acid.   
  
"Sure, help yourself." She opened the fridge and a gleaming portal of light shot out, making her eyes sore. But they soon mellowed at the sight of an huge, unopened bar of Toblerone nestling in the heart of the glowing box.   
  
"You realise I'm gonna have to eat half your chocolate to talk to you about all this stuff?"   
  
Mystified, Luka got to his feet, not remembering that he even had any chocolate, deciding that now, he definitely wanted some. He thought of Marko. Was his first word chocolate or did I imagine it? Well, not in English of course. Smiling, he stretched to alleviate tiredness and made his way towards the light.   
  
"Take your time, you don't want to get sick."   
  
"I think you're sorely underestimating my chocolate-eating abilities."   
  
"I'm not underestimating your ability to change the subject," he said, not willing to let her escape his questions. Not willing to let her escape, full stop.   
  
"What is this, Springer? You gunning for a job as a chat-show host?" He stifled a laugh, moving across the room, moving closer to her.  
  
"Stop doing that, Abby. Just talk to me." That wasn't an ask, it was a command. She closed the fridge door, the strong light fading as quickly as it had appeared, and busied herself with opening the long triangular package. She leant against the worktop, pressing the end of her spine against it, convincing herself that pain still existed in this atmosphere. Abby raked her fingers through her hair again, her physical state compensating for her lack of words, her movements an attempt to force the words out of her mouth. Or am I trying to seduce him? She allowed herself a slight, playful chuckle, teasing the foil from around the chocolate.   
  
  
  
Luka was now leaning against the opposite counter, lilac light from the fish tank pooling and reaming across his bare forearm. A sharp snap, like the sound of a ruptured ligament, cracked through the air as she broke the hard, cool chocolate. Abby dared to look up at him, her eyes as dark as cocoa, thriving in the protective shadows. She didn't know how he did it, but Luka's body language was a conflicting mix, he appeared both caring and carefree. Full of intent but relaxed. A position that she could learn to love: someone who always cared, but did so with breathing room: in every relationship there was an individual, an autonomous being. Maybe he had been like that before and she had just been blind? But he had been blind too.  
  
She outstretched her hand, holding out a cold slab of chocolate, as if she were offering to hand him the darkest parts of her soul from her very palm. He shook his head in a polite, attractive dismissal. The only thing he wanted from her was words. It was not as if she could not be articulate, she had to do it almost every day, speaking to strangers about not just their medical problems, but their personal lives, their difficult decisions. She quickly eased her grievances by consuming the Toblerone, the ambiguous mix of smooth Swiss chocolate and rocky nougat enough to calm an even worse irritation than silence, when silence was not wanted.   
  
Abby crossed her arms defensively and finally shattered silence with the vibration of her voice.  
  
She shrugged, looking up at him again. "What do you want me to say? I guess... I got myself into a relationship at the wrong time. If there ever was a right time. I needed that space that you were just talking about. I didn't get it."   
  
"And now?" Had they both treaded the tightrope of self-recognition over the past eight months or so without realising that maybe, just maybe, it would lead them to a reconciliation? Luka felt strangely objective. He shot a glance toward the window again, and wondered if the light of day would ever pierce through the never-ending spirals of blackened grey. Maybe some mystical being was tampering with the elements, rearranging the cosmos to make this moment possible.   
  
"You tell me, you're the one with all the answers around here." This was not a scathing criticism, but a light, playful interjection, the light dancing in her eyes, a slight smile forming in a tempting curve.   
  
"I told you not to do that." Changing the subject again. He knew how to play too, with a not altogether serious chastisement.  
  
"Yeah, well, since when did I listen to you?" She laughed, feeling a little more relaxed. "You really want to know what I think now?" He nodded in anticipation of an explanation.   
  
"I think I've learnt enough relationship lessons for now." "You just can't change because other people want you to, you have to do it for yourself."   
  
"Other people's expectations are overvoted."   
  
"Overrated." She laughed, then added, "You do that on purpose, don't you?"  
  
"No. I'm not as clever as you think I am."  
  
As he pressed his palms flatter and harder against the cold surface which was supporting him, Luka caught a glint of effervescence in Abby's eyes, a happiness that almost seemed misplaced in her eyes, so often burning with a destructive sadness or a vitriolic anger. In a world so full of sadness and pain, this glimpse of pleasure was exactly what he wanted to see.   
  
"I'm not so clever, really. I thought your relationship with Carter would be the one that lasted." It may have been an irrational fear, but it had been a fear nonetheless.  
  
Abby emitted a sarcastic laugh, before slowly uncrossing her arms.   
  
"Science taught me not to be tempted by diamonds, they're only polished carbon."   
  
"Crystallised carbon. It's all to do with structure."   
  
"Smartass," she said, smiling. Damn doctors and their degrees.   
  
"Cynic." A cynicism, however, that was strangely appealing.  
  
"I'll bet you couldn't afford diamonds when you proposed to your wife." She felt somewhat astounded that those words had trickled from her mouth, without a strangling fear constricting around her heart.   
  
"No, I got my hands on the first ring I could, I stole the napkin ring from the restaurant instead." Luka looked right at her, with a half-smile, the flicker of emotion in his eyes conveying the wonder and sentiment of the memory. Hope, sadness and love all thrown together, burning on the back of his optic nerves. Light fused off his irises and seemed to spill over her in waves of affection. Despite the twist of a smile, Abby knew it was a truthful comment, one which left her both breathless and speechless in the same moment. If love was the perfect, curved, silver blade of a samurai sword then with that minimal gaze he had pierced it into her soul with an agonising, breathtaking violence. It was beautiful, it was dangerous, and there was no time to bleed. It's not that simple, she reminded herself, refusing to believe that it was just that easy.  
  
"I can't believe I just asked you about that," she said, her words ragged, she felt delirious with a pleasurable feeling that she could barely identify, it was alien but it was not frightening.   
  
"It's okay, they're not all bad memories, and it's always good to be reminded of the best ones." He was aware that anyone who chose to cross the boundaries and explore this unspoken quantity of his past needed some reassurance.   
  
Both of them paused from the intensity, neither able to remember when they had last looked away from each other. If silence had been their bond, then words were cementing it deeper. Luka moved now, despite feeling a strong connection, he also felt that the way they were standing there was slightly confrontational.   
  
Now, they were side by side, both leaning their weight against the cold, marbled kitchen furniture, both sets of eyes blurred by the minimal distance between them and the fishtank.   
  
"I still can't believe you're single." "I thought you guys would get married and have these perfect, studious kids, called... Brady and Grady." Even after Abby's admissions, he still felt as puzzled as he did when he had first learnt of their separation, with diesel stifling the air and asphalt melting around him.   
  
She laughed dryly at his comment, feeling that he was having too much fun with this subject now, but was nowhere close to being angry with him. "I'm just not very poetic. And you need to stop taking the piss."   
  
When Abby reconsidered his comment, she felt some kind of nihilistic switch flick within her, and could not prevent the negative words which preceded to fall out of her mouth.  
  
"Besides, my children could never be perfect." She avoided his gaze like the plague.   
  
"They would be, just trust me." She could feel this hopeful analysis tickling across her skin, attempting to enter her bloodstream. She wanted to listen to all these reasonable voices in her head, but she only knew one thing in this situation: escape. Not this time.   
  
That was always the difference, she thought. Fear. Ugly, shitty, uncontrollable fear. I always let fear get in the way. I do not take risks, I do not give things a chance. I look for the exit and take the quickest way out. But I'm beginning to realise that running away is just a treatment, it's not a cure. My mother was right, I need to start taking some risks. But haven't I been doing that, chasing Luka's shadow over the past few hazy weeks, not knowing where the hell I would end up? Maybe I have.  
  
Feeling both comforted and stuck, yearning for just a little solitude, Abby shifted herself forward so that she was face to face with the fishtank. Slowly, she watched the multi-coloured, luminous beings dart chaotically in the illuminated water. As she did so, the solitary pearl of a tear escaped her left eye. It escaped, as she was not permitted to cry. Not permitted to cry for her mother, her brother, even the father she barely knew. Not permitted to cry for Luka, even when she thought he was dead. Not even permitted to cry for her unborn child, whose ghostly fists still attempted to embrace her. She caught a glimpse of her reflection, pure and truthful, as the single bead of water flowed across her cheek. She felt relieved, as the salty sting against her soft skin was telling her that she was not just beginning to purge the hurt, but that it was starting to escape from inside.   
  
Luka caught the troubled peace of her stare in reflection of the glass, somehow wishing it would distort and contort the image before his eyes. At the same time, he knew what it was to cry; it was not useless, it was not wasteful, but it was an expulsion of bitterness, a purification as the impure water flowed out. Her eyes were flickering like a twisting candle flame battling against the tortured darkness, but no more liquid was expelled. He had little choice but to follow in her steps, so that now he was standing behind her. Slowly, as if he believed she was made of glass, he placed a firm but gentle hand on her left shoulder. If there was any pain there, then it was if it would seep into his fingertips and be absorbed to nothing. Abby exhaled lightly, her breath catching in the air, yet another expulsion of hurt, moving them even closer.   
  
Finally, she turned around, the glow behind her effective in casting a rich, dark shadow. Abby looked up at him, not begging for solace, understanding or anything. Her dark eyes carried his secrets as well as her own. They fell into an embrace with a haunting simplicity, striving not for comfort but for the final, wordless confirmation of intimacy. Luka closed his eyes, all he could see was darkness like tar-black molasses dripping behind his eyelids. Reluctant to break away, they were caught midway between being together and apart as their eyes met again and their hold loosened. Luka's grip was loose on her shoulders, Abby's hands delicate at his sides. As if she had commanded it with her expression, he leant in and stole a soft, silent kiss from her lips. As he did so, he felt the cold and warm intricacies of her sadness and joy as the tear rubbed against his skin. It reminded him of how much her pain hurt him, a swift contrast to the violence that he had vengefully released on Brian, but a reminder all the same.   
  
  
  
  
  
Luka felt a strange mix of hope and fear, despite being twisted and churned with the delirious ecstasy of her kiss. Abby could barely comprehend this state of bliss, the mere physical contact the only thing convincing her that it was real. It had to end, and they disconnected with differing degrees of reluctance. He still felt a strange apprehension, but could not force himself to avoid her eyes, knowing full well that this trouble would be evident in his glance. She saw it, and felt his discomfort. It was somewhat irrational, he had wanted to taste the joy so much, but now felt strangely redundant. As a compensation, as he did not want to cause her too much pain, he planted his lips on her forehead and planted a kiss there, before disconnecting completely.   
  
"I don't think we're ready for this. I'll see you in the morning." With these, short, sharp, jagged words he was heading for the stairs. Abby could not find any words to tell him that she thought he was insanely wrong. Cold and strangely alone, she returned to the couch, where she wrapped herself in the angry maroon and hurtful violet of the sheet and begged for the daylight to bring her what she wanted. 


	18. Halfway to Paradise

Title: Hotter Than July  
  
Rating: PG-13, but R later on...  
  
Disclaimer: The ER characters do not belong to me, neither do any products, song lyrics or literary quotations mentioned.  
  
Summary: Warm weather, flirtation and a few lessons to be learned. Luby. Sort of AU, sort of not.  
  
Reviews: Please, I still feel a tiny bit unsure about this chap :)  
  
  
  
Author's note: More strong language!!   
  
IMPORTANT: The next chapter, 19, may mean that I will have to up the rating to R. So please, I don't want to lose anyone who has been reading this, this story will not have disappeared, it will just be in the "All" or "R" rated section. If you don't want to read the R bit (it's not definite yet though) then please skip to Ch.20, which will be back to PG-13. Thanks!!   
  
The morning was darker, and even darker still squeezed into the minimal space of the staircase. Light pooled in haemorrhages of colour and understanding at the top and the bottom, yet the middle was a black vault of tar, pitchblende, carbon and bitumen. Somewhere in this space, lingering between the gutter and the stars was Abby, the cool yet stagnant air nipping at her bare legs. A casual flick of her thumb turned gas to flame as if she were some sort of alchemist, as she neatly lit her first cigarette of the day. At some time close to 4 a.m. She needed the nicotine to control the confusion, frustration and hope doing somersaults in her blood. Near yet far, stranded between closeness and distance, day and night, something had to force some action. She exhaled hard, then groped for the stolen saucer that she had placed on the stair, resting neatly between her feet. The ceramic was cold against her fingertips as she tapped and flicked ash into it, the disarray mocking her supposed emotions. She needed no more time, no more silence, no more sadness. Not even solace was an option anymore.  
  
It had been at least twenty minutes since she had abandoned her attempts to sleep. How could she, with a kiss still silent on her lips, fingerprints etched on her clothes, disorder looped like a spiral in her head? She glanced upward, revelling in the pleasure of a secret cigarette, while wondering if Mo was still soundly asleep on his couch. What would he think of this mixed-up state of affairs? "Life's too fucking short," he would have said. Damn right, nice theory, but it was always different in practice.   
  
"I smelt smoke, where's the fire?" Luka's voice behind her, short, shocking, cocooned in the minimal space. She held her left hand high in the air, waving the glowing tip in his direction. His attention caught by the toxic glow, he tenderly gripped her wrist with one hand while delicately easing the Marlboro from between her fingertips with the other. Easing his frame into the impossible space, Luka juggled with the cigarette while finally occupying the other half of the step. They were crammed together, she felt the heat of his forearm as an abrasive delight, the denim of his jeans scratching warmth onto her skin.   
  
  
  
"You're a very bad liar, Luka, you know that?" Her glance was tantamount to an accusation, despite being some sort of compliment.  
  
"I'm glad..." "That you can tell." He had told her too many lies, some that he had attempted to repair, some that may have been unrepairable.   
  
His first smoke since Africa was accompanied by a slight nostalgia, a slight repulsion, a cycle of emotion. Abby watched, enthralled by the coils of smoke twisting in the air, creating subliminal messages.  
  
"I'm..."  
  
"I don't want a fucking apology. Anything but a goddamned sorry." Anger had disconnected itself from her tone, her barely audible whisper was more of a plea. Cautiously, slowly, he reached for the saucer, then violently corkscrewed the cigarette to nothing.   
  
"I wasn't going to apologise. I was going to explain." Luka felt her move, just slightly, maybe a shrug, maybe a shiver.   
  
Her reply surprised him. "Good." Despite being caressed, then abandoned, Abby no longer wished to concern herself with the past. Going around in circles of apology was no use to either of them.   
  
"Do you think I'm fearless?"   
  
Her trademark sarcastic laugh was followed by genuine confusion.  
  
"What?"   
  
It would have been easy to perceive him as fearless: someone who had seen so much, some things so haunting that others could barely conceptualise. Some things were beyond comprehension.  
  
"I don't think anybody is fearless...it's impossible." She replied while her fingertips still mourned the loss of the cigarette, a gap where it had rested still visible.  
  
  
  
It was his realisation that not everything was impossible that had been troublesome. Generations of belief systems and myths told you it was only possible to love one person in the world, and that was it. No second chances, no rebirth, no rediscovery. Even if he refused to define his feelings for Abby, he recognised their many wonderful threads: intense and irrational, beautiful and terrifying. Now he knew why he had sought solace in drink and sex. It was easier to feel nothing. To feel nothing when you were intoxicated. To feel nothing when you fucked a whore.   
  
"I got scared. The things that I feel for you, they...frighten me sometimes." His voice was teeming with emotion.   
  
"You should see me in my Halloween costume," she said, attempting to diffuse and destroy this fear. Leaning against him slightly, she felt the confusing contradictions of the muscular strength of his shoulder with his admission of vulnerability. She actually felt him smile, pleased that she could inject some humour into his life even at serious moments. Serious moments when he was admitting that he felt things for her. Whatever these things were, she could not disguise her delight as she caught his gaze momentarily. There it was again, a flicker of light between their eyes, as intricate and delicate as a firefly spinning in the blackness.   
  
"I just didn't think...I could feel anything that was...powerful..again." Luka was choosing his adjectives carefully. All the complex networks of nerves and feelings within him had been corroded, corrupted and split by painful experience, fused and broken with hurt. He had not expected to go beyond some sort of repair and actually feel a kind of renewal. A place where it was possible to feel things that were powerful, stirring and important.  
  
"You're the one who knows all about risk, what makes you so scared of it now? I'm not that scary. Even at 4 am."   
  
He smirked, feeling both childish and less vulnerable at the same time.  
  
"It's stupid, I know." Abby put a cold hand on his warm arm, the friction and contrast both uncomfortable and exhilarating.   
  
  
  
"It's not so stupid. Fear can be pretty irrational sometimes. Pretty much most of the time."   
  
She watched the impossible darkness melting before her eyes, covering and protecting them. She allowed herself a secret, wry smile. That felt like a one hundred percent genetic pearl of wisdom, straight from Maggie's canon of reason and unreason. Slowly, she moved her hand down his arm in one liquid motion, closing her comparatively small hand over his. Abby laid back slightly, stretching like a sun-drenched cheetah. Leaning casually against the wall, she angled her body both close and far away from his. Observing with interest, she saw the half-grin still prominent on his face, still amused at their predicament. Feeling a rush of humour, she emitted a true, intimate laugh which leapt perfectly in the quiet. Luka mirrored her actions, sloping casually backwards, cautious not to sever their connection as she gripped his hand ungracefully. He met her amicable eyes with the raise of a questioning eyebrow, still somewhat amused.   
  
"I'm missing the joke, Abby. You're gonna have to explain."   
  
"It's funny, I feel like I just spent the last few weeks slowly learning not to be afraid anymore." Her tone became frank but still optimistic. Turning the tables slightly, Luka pulled his hand from underneath hers and proceeded to engulf her fingers with his hand. What was there to be afraid of, when he was gripping life and the future in his hand, feeling the slow beat of the pulse in her wrist? A second chance was not to be passed up, but to be held onto.  
  
"And when do you complete your education?" His tone of voice made education sound like the sexiest thing that had ever existed, while his hand tugged hers closer.  
  
"I'd say..right about now." With a movement as quick as lightning, Abby replaced the smile on his lips with a teasing, luxurious kiss, her body contorted in an awkward, rapturous mess as she leant in closer.   
  
Aware of her discomfort, Luka shifted slowly to the middle of the stair, then pulled her uncouthly into his lap, pleased that she instinctively moved her legs outside of his, as his hands fixed on her back. He deepened the kiss, tasting the hope, the life, the silent meanings in her mouth, the unspoken words passing between them in the sweetest discourse, the final act of communication. They soon pulled apart, as she was laughing at their absurd position.   
  
  
  
"This is getting dangerous, I may have to renew my life insurance," she said, breathlessly content.   
  
"You were the one who wanted all the risk," he said, with a smile, gazing into her eager, joyous eyes, feeling her expression churn right through him, cutting with an agonising pleasure.   
  
Abby gazed back, his eyes flashing back at her like globes of mercury gleaming in the dark, sending reams of silvery enchantment into every fibre of her existence. Comforted by the strong grip of his hands against her back, she whispered slowly against his skin.   
  
"Don't you dare let go." The humour did not disguise the seriousness of her tone, conveying the importance of her words, stretching them past just this precious moment in time. They kissed again, intoxicating each other with the memories of a past not as tainted as they remembered. Her hands drifted to his shoulders, eager to find more safety in this unconventional embrace, feeling the perfect cotton against the outline of his body. Teasingly, he removed one of his hands from her back, eager to shift his attention. Breaking the kiss again, he moved his hand to trace the outline of her jaw with a delicate, intricate touch.   
  
"Bastard," she teased in mock anger, "I told you not to let go." Abby soon forgave him when he ran his fingers through her hair in an impossibly tender gesture, the streaks of colour fading along with legacy of another woman inside that she had long left behind.  
  
"Insults will get you everywhere," Luka replied swiftly, sensuously, starting to feel uncomfortable, despite the sweetness of the situation. He fixed her with an alarmingly powerful gaze, full of emotion, fearless, before gently attempting to disentangle them from their blissful mess. Once successful, they made their way slowly to the top of the stairs, mixing with the shadows, connected by a tight hold of each other's hand. Emancipated from the dark, they tangled in the imperfection of grey, as another twisting kiss led them closer to the ochre light of the day. 


	19. Twice

Title: Hotter Than July  
  
Disclaimer: The ER characters do not belong to me, neither do any products, song lyrics or literary quotations mentioned.  
  
Summary: Warm weather, flirtation and a few lessons to be learned. Luby. Sort of AU, sort of not.  
  
Reviews: Please let me know that you're all still with me after such a long time!! And thankyou for all the input on the last chapter :)  
  
  
  
Author's note: Apologies for the two week hiatus, I had two papers to write, such is the life of a lazy final year English student!! But I'm back, and I've put this to an 'R' just as pure precaution, it's not all that 'R' rated at all in my opinion but I don't want to cause any trouble!! So a little non-graphic sexual content in this chapter. But back to PG-13 for the next chapter :)   
  
Early morning was still undecided, it was blue-black, it was grey, it was violet. In a complicitous tangle they laid there against the fevered mass of purple sheets, silent but for peaceful, content breathing and the strands of her hair brushing against his chest, his fingertips idly tracing every fibre, no longer attempting to understand anything. This was not an end, but purely a beginning. Little else mattered anymore, neither East nor West, night nor day. Their fingers were locked tightly, compacted as strongly as hours earlier, a distant memory in this timeless space. Abby adjusted the richly coloured sheet to cover her shoulder, to shroud this intimate moment, to keep it for themselves. She flickered her eyes shut and remembered.   
  
And so she remembered: the tantalising citrus of his aftershave, the coldness of his necklace against her lips, then the feverish warmth of his skin, the mess she made of his hair while teasing the tense cotton of his T-shirt away from his body. The addictive, tender glow in his eyes, his hands tracing every curve of her body, an atonement for his dismissal of her beauty. Her half-smile as she lowered onto him, the fixed totality of their gaze as they found a languorous rhythm, silent, possessed, captivated, as they saw only each other. The bittersweet end; her tendons shivering, her synapses flickering, every nerve bathed in pleasure and affection. The final intimacy: a soft, grazing kiss, her head then resting on his shoulder, turned towards the light, daybreak unfurling against her eyeball while she held him, silent, breathless, complete.   
  
She opened her eyes again, then listened to the slow, erratic but yet perfect sound of Luka's breathing, knowing he was awake, even more aware as he curled the end of her hair with his fingers, toying with it, shaping it like the wasteful filament of a light bulb. He was laying there, eyes wide open, watching imaginary patterns on the ceiling. Closing his eyes, his fingers tangled through her hair, also attempting some reconstruction of the immediate past.   
  
And so he remembered: the dancing light in her eyes, energised with mischief and desire. Her hair brushing against him like a thousand icy needles of silk. The shape of her body as he touched her, every inch a memory. The intoxication, the rush of feeling as he moved within her. His emotional ecstasy as he looked up and watched her, goddess of imperfection, light and dark hair, different shades painting her. She was shapes, she was colours, she was everything. The sweet torture of the final moment, every shiver in his spine, every coil of emotion twisting into his soul, his hands on her hips, her heart his future. An epilogue, a kiss, an affirmation without words, her head bowed on his shoulder, hiss lips delicate on hers. His arms encircling her as he held her, silent, breathless, complete.   
  
  
  
Outside, the city was quiet, still, unmoved, unwoken. There was little noise, the occasional rustle of sheets, the infrequent buzz of traffic in the periphery the only hint that any other soul was alive outside of this utopia of emotion.   
  
"What are you thinking about?" Abby was always intrigued by the unreadable secrets of this thoughts, especially in these quiet, almost poignant moments of rare intimacy.   
  
"Tomorrow."   
  
"Don't you mean today?"   
  
"No, I mean tomorrow. No work and all play." In his quiet contentment, Luka was starting to crave one of the things he missed most: the ocean. The thought of a day's lounging on the temperamental shore of Lake Michigan was somehow less appealing, but still mildly pleasant.  
  
"Roll on tomorrow," Abby replied, smiling to herself.   
  
  
  
Slowly, still holding his hand, she sat up slightly, turning her attention to the open bedside drawer, which had been abandoned in a half-open state when the search for condoms had been successful.   
  
"What are you doing?" Luka asked, feeling a little confused.   
  
"Being mysterious," she replied, beginning to explore the varying textures of the items in the drawer. Her fingertips caught against something cold, smooth and metallic, she wrapped them around it and extracted it from the drawer. Even before a crisp fold of light was defining the shining edges, Luka knew exactly what she was holding, that silver, incongruous talisman that had saved his life: the crucifix.   
  
He watched her eyes with care as she examined the necklace with a mystified and cautious air, the minimal light splitting into a thousand shards against the surface, echoes of a thousand possibilities. He had felt obliged to keep it locked away like a secret, the secret of his very own mortality. An impossible thing to control or understand. She was hanging it in front of his eyes like a hypnotist with a watch.  
  
"That little bit of silver saved my life," he said, quietly, a confession, a confusion.   
  
Puzzlement pushed its way across Abby's eyes in a swift, punishing glaze over her irises.  
  
"I don't understand," she said, plainly.   
  
"I almost got killed in Africa. I didn't get shot through the head because I was wearing that." The bitter irony, the caustic depravity, the unspeakable fear of that moment still haunted him. Evidently, it haunted her imagination with almost the same power, as she unsuccessfully fought away a shiver. She knew what that fear was like, remembering the cold, brittle, repulsive smoothness of a gun's barrel against her head. But it was the past and they had survived. If these harrowing memories were indeed ghosts, then they were temporary ones.   
  
"It's strange. These things seem to happen in threes. They shot every other man, they spared me, then I almost died again."  
  
Abby found no immediate reply, but in an irrational, unguided moment of faultlessness, she looped the shining metal silently around her neck. She fixed him with an intense gaze while tenderly stroking his arm, not missing the significance of his trouble with the number three. Luka risked a glance upward, transfixed by her dangerous beauty with that symbol hanging heavily against her skin. It was a glance that told him just one thing: she was the only thing he needed to believe in. Even though he did not articulate this, she seemed to confirm the thought with a wicked grin, he smiled back, he couldn't help it.   
  
Leaning in just a little closer, she whispered, mischief dancing about in her tone with an air of seriousness.   
  
"Bad things come in threes, but good things always happen twice." With that statement, she covered his body with hers again, while dawn's sleepy eye opened in the perfect arch of a smile. 


	20. Together

Title: Hotter Than July  
  
Disclaimer: The ER characters do not belong to me, neither do any products, song lyrics or literary quotations mentioned.  
  
Summary: Warm weather, flirtation and a few lessons to be learned. Luby. Sort of AU, sort of not.  
  
Reviews: Please do leave your comments, as always I appreciate them very much :)   
  
Author's note: Thanks for all the feedback from the last chapter, glad to see you're all still with me :) I've had an up-and-down week this week, and this chapter took me an eternity to finish!! But I'm happy with it now and I hope you enjoy it :)   
  
A high, god-like sun dripped luscious caramel light into another blue, cloudless, untouched sky. Circuits of warmth were already trailing through the air like jet vapours, building invisible joy in the atmosphere. Luka had found himself drawn to the window, keen to observe the outside world that had escaped him so easily over the last few precious hours or so. On an adjacent building, a dark shape rested; a vulture, eyeing the city with sadistic eyes. For a moment, he would have believed it was some kind of demonic omen, but it swiftly departed, the vulgar, grotesque bird spreading out its wings and disappearing into the maze of streets and skyscrapers. He looked down at himself, dressed and wearing his Croatia football shirt to atone for last night's traitorous behaviour. Still, it was a strange garment, the badge of his country on the left, the all-American Nike swoosh on the right. But Nike was the Greek goddess of victory, so it all came back to those Ancient Greeks in the end.   
  
He turned his attention back to a sleeping Abby, peacefully wrapped up in that perfect colour which was as vivid as Cleopatra's sails. A slight smile on her face, the faintest curve of satisfaction. Her hand pressed flat against the pillow, the very space that he had vacated, in her subconscious mode she still believed she was touching him. As comfortable as he had been to wake in this embrace, her hands constant and soft against him, he had to get up. It was just habit, he was used to it. From being shaken awake as a teenager, being not-so reluctantly hauled to Mass to the clamorous joy of being hassled awake by Jasna, eager to show him the brilliance of a new day. All now just fragments of the past, pieces of memory. Moving quietly, he sat on the edge of the bed, then delicately, with a single finger, traced the length of her spine, a subtle caress to show him this was real. Deciding that if his early rising could be put down to habit and that most habits were bad ones, he then slid cautiously back under the sheets, repositioning her hand on his chest.   
  
  
  
After a few slow, speculative heartbeats wavered against her palm, Abby stirred, beginning to emerge from her peaceful, dreamless sleep. She opened her eyes as quickly as she shut them again, the harsh sunlight causing her more discomfort than she had expected. Finally, she opened one eye and smiled, more content than she had been in some time.  
  
"Good morning."   
  
"It is," she replied. As she moved to look at him, there was a resounding jangle as the metal of their necklaces clashed.   
  
"We have more jewellery than Mr T."   
  
She laughed. "What do you know about the A-Team?"   
  
"Don't you watch daytime TV when you're working nights?"   
  
"I think semi-consciousness is preferable."   
  
"Maybe."   
  
Her arm snaked more thoroughly around him, she rested her warm cheek against the cold, synthetic nylon of his shirt, savouring the moment, twisting about against the cotton sheets. Maybe mornings weren't so bad after all.  
  
"You want some coffee?" Abby sat up slightly, turning on her side, digging her elbow into the pillow, her palm resting against her cheek.   
  
"So I can burn out my insides before breakfast? I'll pass."   
  
Luka should have seen that one coming. But he pressed on.   
  
"Tea?"   
  
"Tea. How very British of you." He moved so that he was also resting on an elbow, meeting her eyeline.  
  
"Do you always have to be difficult before 10 am?"   
  
She flashed a salacious grin before replying. "I can be very easy if you want."   
  
He smiled, with a slight shake of the head, placing a hand on her bare shoulder.  
  
"I have to save my energy for the sick."   
  
"Didn't I tell you about my cold?" She was not about to lose this humorous battle.   
  
"Now you're just faking it."   
  
"Give me what I want and I promise you I won't be."  
  
They laughed together this time, before instinctively pulling each other in for a lingering, soft kiss, white sunlight flowing across their tired faces, her fingers tangled in his short, dark hair, his hand spanning from her shoulder to her back. She tasted the richness of coffee, then the sharpness of mint, while a hint of chocolate and tobacco lingered against his tongue. They finally disconnected with a heartfelt reluctance, Abby returned the side of her face to the pillow, feeling it soft, comfortable, warm. Her eyes were sincere, her hair flowing behind her in a messy cascade. Luka wanted to frame that image in his mind, to keep a mental picture of such unconventional attractiveness. He looked at her intently for a few moments, enjoying the simplicity of her stare, her eyes always communicating tiny messages. She moved closer again, and kissed him warmly on the cheek, before smiling at him again.  
  
"Some tea would be great."   
  
He responded with a gentle, curious nod, a quick smile before getting up slowly. Abby sat up properly this time, pulling on the sheet roughly to whirl it erratically around her body. She watched as he went out slowly, his posture sometimes graceful, sometimes uncomfortable. She was surprised as he stopped in the doorway, leaning casually against the door frame, the light alive in his eyes.  
  
"Should I slip something in it to calm your urges?" Luka folded his arms speculatively, his tone teasing.   
  
Abby swiftly decided that the pillow she was resting against was far too comfortable and soft to make an adequate weapon, so instead, she effortlessly stretched and flung her abandoned bra at him with a determined, yet playful vigour. Again she was surprised as he caught it in one outstretched hand. Luka looked up, meeting her mischievous grin with a wicked smile.  
  
"That really wasn't sensible. It doesn't even fit me."   
  
"Give it a couple more years of middle age, and you'll fill it out very nicely."   
  
"I should come over there and make you pay for that comment."   
  
"You'd better make it tea for two then."   
  
For a few, still, perfect moments they were enchanted by each other's happiness. It wasn't meant to be this good, was it? Luka was more than tempted to back up his comment as he observed her sitting up, smiling, laughing, undeniably at her best. Deciding that maybe he should go and prepare some sort of breakfast, he gently threw the garment back at her and finally tore himself away.   
  
She watched him go again, a flash of white and red with a dash of blue. Abby stretched contentedly, still grinning, giving herself a little time for some contemplation. She had known too many mornings where they had left each other's arms with barely a goodbye. It was different now. She trusted her instincts. Slowly, she wrapped the violet sheet more carefully around herself like a dress, tucking it in between her breasts to secure it in place. As she finally got up, the length of the sheet trailed across the floor behind her, flowing like some statuesque ball gown. She took a long shower, the arrowheads of warm rain like fingertips on her skin, a delightful reminder of how her body had been so feverishly caressed in the early hours. She regrouped her scattered clothes, but borrowed a shirt, keen to feel the newness of fresh fabric. Making her way down the stairs, she tied back her hair, darker thanks to its dampness but drying quickly in the already humid air.   
  
The vibrancy of the morning then hit her: searing white sunshine, a hundred differing aromas, a slight breeze lilting in through the window, even the newspaper creating a sweet cadence as its pages lingered between Luka's fingers. Had he been out, or did he get it delivered? Slowly, she produced her hand in front of him, he read her signals immediately and his palm received the crucifix that she had finally removed from around her neck. He felt it heavy, slightly wet from the shower, glowing as prominently in the sunshine as it had in the wondrous dusk.   
  
"You don't want to keep it?" Mysticism jumped in his tone, half-way between seriousness and jest.  
  
She smiled, then spoke reflectively. "I don't need to be protected."   
  
Their eyes met for a moment, then Luka was thankful that her attention was distracted by the clear, amber ball of the teapot. He thought of Brian again and knew that one day they would have to deal with that. That was one secret that he had to unburden from his shoulders. Not that he was regretful, or guilty, but because he wanted to open up the past and get on with the future. Not just in the case of that jerk either, but with everything else. And he meant everything. He felt a little uncertainty churn, marking him as clearly as the dark newsprint that scarred his fingers. Abby was not going to give him a round of applause for his act of vengeance, he was certain of that. Even if a tiny part of her wanted had wanted that man to suffer, now was not a good time to deal with this. Things were good, he was not going to fuck it all up again, the fine sands of time would prevail with all the answers. He hoped. It wasn't going to be easy.   
  
  
  
In all truth, Abby had been glad to distract herself with the curiousness of the translucent teapot, as she too was considering a few pressing thoughts. Well, one mainly: was he going back to Africa? She gripped the teapot with a handful of sleeve, not just for protection, but because the sleeves were far too long anyway. She had lost count of the times she had heard his laughter this morning and she heard it again, her fear was melting away, as she watched the milk and tea fusing in the mug to a caramel amalgam.   
  
"You could've borrowed a short-sleeved shirt." Abby elicited a contemplative half-grin, and Luka excepted the usual witty comment. She sipped slowly, before deciding to be totally frank. "So, are you going back? To Africa?" He diverted his gaze from the news and gave her his full attention.   
  
"You'd miss me far too much."   
  
She smiled fully this time, leaning towards him. "Don't flatter yourself."   
  
"It was good for me. Well, in a mental sense. I wouldn't recommend malaria to anybody. I don't need it now." "I'm healed, you're educated, we're all fixed up." Educated? Then she remembered their conversation on the stairs and felt even better, but sensed almost mockery in his tone. Or maybe it was disbelief at finally being dealt a good hand of cards in life's never-ending game.   
  
"You still need to work on your lying." Her voice was light, but Luka was quickly aware that just maybe he had left too much room for speculation in his tone.   
  
"We're getting there, right?" His voice was touchingly sincere this time.   
  
She nodded, looking into his eyes. "Yeah, we are." "But I didn't have to tell you that."   
  
"And I didn't have to ask." It's just.."   
  
"Yeah, I know. Things aren't meant to be this good." Soon enough, light and mischief were in Abby's eyes again as she tilted her head speculatively.   
  
"Come here, you have something in your eye." She ran a thumb delicately across his cheekbone, as if to move to inspect his eye, then put both hands on the back of his neck and teased him with a dangerously slow-burning kiss.   
  
Luka pulled away with a considered difficulty, knowing that he would never make it to work later if she carried on this way.   
  
"You're telling me that I need to work on my lying? That was as see-through as the teapot."   
  
"We'll just have to work on it together." She picked up the mug and walked over to the open window, letting the breeze caress her as the sun flamed streams of pleasured light across the room. Instinctively, he followed, finally standing behind her and slipping his arms around her waist, resting his head against hers. The city in the sunshine was as ambivalent as their embrace; reminiscent of sun, sweat, mayhem, misery, joy, order. So they were mirrored, in the glass, in the world outside. Together. 


	21. I Didn't Hear It Through The Grapevine

Title: Hotter Than July  
  
Disclaimer: The ER characters do not belong to me, neither do any products, song lyrics or literary quotations mentioned.  
  
Summary: Warm weather, flirtation and a few lessons to be learned. Luby. Sort of AU, sort of not.  
  
Reviews: Please continue to give me your thoughts :) Thanks!!   
  
Author's note: Writing this is always a joy for me, but I had real fun with this and I hope you like it too :) I have a few dedications and thankyous as well. Natasha: this part contains so many things that make me think of you..part of my creative backbone as per usual. Thanks. Claire: Thanks as always for yesterday, watching ER with ya is always a pleasure and the songs are so inspirational, thanks :) Sass: Many thanks for reading as always :) Rowena: Truly grateful for all the email this week, I really needed to vent some of that angst LOL. :) And formerlynoname: thanks for your support at TWoP..I am a member, just not a very active one!! I really appreciate your praise of my work. Of course, thanks to EVERYONE and I mean everyone who continues to R and R. I'm not done yet, I'm just full of thanks this week LOL. :) OK, I'm done rambling..here's 21!!   
  
"And melt into the city's strife and sound; like a dewdrop in an ocean." (Charles Dickens, Bleak House)   
  
Is it better to let your surroundings elude you or have them falling all around you in some sort of Armageddon? Was there beauty in chaos, in order, or in both? As it had been of late, Luka was ignorant of the city and the city was oblivious of him. All the irate commuters, the bustling children, the slow, smiling pensioners passed by in a mutiplicitous blur. He scarcely felt the rising afternoon heat prickling his skin. Nor did he hear the traffic, the voices, the screams of life, thanks to the headphones looped uncomfortably in his ears. He was listening to Mo's music, as the digital music revolution had turned them both into more than opportunistic tricksters, ever willing to swap identical I-Pods without the other knowing and surprising each other with new sounds. This was definitely Mo's player. Who else would listen to OutKast and Aretha Franklin alongside Chopin and Wagner? He pulled out the tiny white earphones slowly when he got to work, deciding that it would be best not to go about life-saving while humming the melody to "You Make Me Feel Like A Natural Woman." You're here to help people, not scare them away, he thought.  
  
If Chicago had escaped him, then County did not, as the air-conditioning wisped an almost arctic rush in his face. Then there was the shrilling purr of telephones, jabbering voices, the familiar rhythm of treatment procedures. Jesus, the Roman amphitheatres were quieter than this! Luka mused for a moment, wondering if an amoured Russell Crowe would come rushing around the corner any minute. Shaking his head, to dispel his suddenly overactive imagination, he smiled and came face to face with a weary Susan.  
  
"Am I glad to see you." Someone else was here to carry the burden of this hellhole on their back for the next twelve hours.   
  
"The feeling's always mutual," he replied, stretching out the smile.  
  
Is he flirting with me? She wondered for a moment, allowing one eye to steal a peek at the open part of his shirt.   
  
"Your friend Elvis is back," Susan said, focusing her mind firmly back on the job.   
  
"Wearing a pair of horns and a cape?" Luka asked while moving to stand beside her, quickly assessing the horrendous massacre of paperwork sprayed all over the admit desk.   
  
Susan paused. "Oh I get it. Devil In Disguise. Very nice." "Is Elvis big back home?"   
  
"Elvis is big everywhere." "What's wrong with him this time?"   
  
"He had a musical disagreement with John Lennon over there." Susan gestured to chairs, where a miserable man sat, hair scruffy, trademark round glasses askewed on his face, stitches on his forehead, an unlit cigarette hanging sadly from his mouth.   
  
"And no, before you say it, George, Paul and Ringo are not waiting outside in a cab."   
  
He smiled. Not everybody was willing to just be friendly in the work environment. "What else do you have for me?"   
  
"Mr Norman in four. His wife accidentally brained him with a nine pound frozen salmon." Susan's candour was half-way between serious and comedic.  
  
"It's enough to make your head swim." He didn't know where these lines were coming from, but he was having fun.   
  
"You're quite the comedian, aren't you? You shouldn't be laughing, we're criminally short on nurses, so you might have to pick the defrosting scales out of his false teeth."   
  
  
  
"All in a day's work." Luka didn't care what was thrown at him today as he finally rearranged some of the scattered papers into some sort of order.   
  
"Who works five till five anyway? Scared of the dark?"   
  
"Just being unconventional." Or maybe it was more of a case of coming in with the sunshine and going home with the sunrise. The sun reminded him of home, of miles of unspoilt coastline, Mediterranean summers. If only all the memories were such a paradise. But the merest hint of a painful thought was erased with the swift analgesia of the last twenty-four hours.   
  
"Well, I hate to ruin your criminal enthusiasm, but you're in charge of this shabby crew and answerable to the one-armed bandit for the next twelve hours. That's enough to rain on anybody's parade."   
  
  
  
"I'll just carry an umbrella," he replied, with very little seriousness.  
  
"Luka, tell me what it is you've been stealing from the drugs cabinet so I can have a few doses myself, I sure could use it." She suspected there was little chemical or artificial about his energy, but was happy to keep the conversation light. After three shootings, a premature delivery and only three cups of coffee, she needed some relief. Susan considered for a moment, remembering the Christmas before last and the tumultuous chain of turbulent events that seemed to have haunted Luka. Car crashes and God knows what else. She recalled so vividly his reminiscences of Christmases past with his family, and she had seen the cold, clear despair in his eyes. Was she standing next to the same man right now?   
  
"Nothing." His voice was a perfect plateau of innocence as he grabbed his first chart of the day. "For you to have some of what I've got would involve a serious lifestyle change." They exchanged a quirky, knowing glance before Susan finally found herself getting ready to leave.   
  
"I get the picture. Have a nice afternoon, Romeo."   
  
As Susan finally made her way from the cool chaos of inside to the welcoming humidity of the outside, she wished that she was a betting woman. Because she knew who was the odds-on favourite for Juliet in her book.   
  
In fact, more and more of her speculations were turning into actuality, as she had predicted, a contented Luka was soon disrupted from his flow by that small menace of a man, Romano.  
  
"Well, if it isn't the Transylvanian terror. I'll be sending some half-wit of a med student to check your patients for bite marks." As deadpan, cynical and politically incorrect as ever. Wonderful.   
  
"I'm sure all of your students are very willing to give you a hand," he replied, not making eye-contact, knowing that this joke was as probably as outdated as the surgeon's geographically-unsound insults, but feeling that sometimes, a little fight-back was justified. With that parting shot, he walked away with confident strides, off to find out if Mr Norman's head was swimming and to ascertain just what mischief, Mr King; the Elvis impersonator, had been up to. The best job in the whole damn world.   
  
  
  
*****  
  
Twenty four-hours could often masquerade as a lifetime in emergency medicine, hours became blurred, time was contorted and shifted with the grace of an acrobat, tiredness yapped like a pesky little dog. Somewhere in the middle of this vacuum of uncertainty was Abby, juggling charts, the pen in her mouth not doing much to stop her from grinning like an idiot. Always acutely aware of what was going on around her, she stopped in the hallway to remove the pen from her mouth, before she ended up with black ink all over her face, and was surprised by the oncoming Susan, the eager detective once again.   
  
"You're looking very pleased with yourself." She announced, already chipping away for some sort of confession.   
  
"I've got two guys with chlamydia and a woman with gonorrhoea. What can I say? STDs just rock my tiny little world." Play it safe, Abby was thinking.   
  
"I see. Nothing to do with a very-pleased Luka?"   
  
Abby smiled, knowing she was giving herself away. But she had seen enough of Luka's misery to be delighted that he was happy, whether she had anything to do with it or not. Before she even had a chance to open her mouth, Susan had rapidly ushered her into the nearby Ladies' room, keen to make the next conversation a private one.   
  
"So, are you guys batting in your second innings?"   
  
"Something like that. It's early days." Abby turned away, assessing herself in the large mirror, watching Sherlock Susan's zealous behaviour with some amusement.   
  
"Are you sure that's what you want?" The almost sombre tone of Susan's voice seemed to echo back off the tiled walls. Abby turned back, folding her arms slowly, squeezing her body together as if she was trying to hide away from the cold.   
  
"Not so long ago..he was...up to things..with strangers..in closets." Abby knew that Susan was showing genuine concern and not just hankering for some gossip, but her broken dialogue only forced resilience.   
  
"That's the only place I can find you these days. I'm getting relationship advice from the woman who got married on a weekend?" If there was such a game as verbal tennis then Susan had just been aced with a serve that Andy Roddick would have been envious of.   
  
Abby unfolded her arms, leaning back against the sink, trying not to look too pleased with her spectacular come-back, while Susan readily gave in.   
  
"Ah forget it. If it makes you happy then go for it. We can make a pact. Less Sex and the City and more sex in the city. We can compare notes."   
  
"You'll have to buy me a bigger notepad."   
  
"Spend enough time in those storage closets, you might even find one."   
  
"You're the expert."   
  
This time it was a ringing peal of laughter that resounded in the otherwise empty bathroom. Even this cold, miserable place now seemed a little brighter. Susan quickly joined Abby and they both turned back to the mirror, both smiling back at their own reflections in some sort of ritual of mutual gratification. Both were women who had been used to seeing their gloomy, sad, tired, defeated, deflated stares glaring back at them. Four shining eyes and two not so secretive smiles were a refreshing change.   
  
"Hey, not a word to anyone about this." Her voice was edged with caution and severity.   
  
"Why, have you got something to be ashamed of?" A little salaciousness peppered its way through Susan's inquisition.  
  
"No, I'm just sick of everybody else knowing my business. This place has the kind of grapevine that Marvin Gaye gets excited about."   
  
"Abby, Marvin Gaye's been dead for twenty years."   
  
"Exactly." She smiled, combing her fingers through her hair, aggravating the streaks of colour into an even more confused blend.   
  
Susan laughed again, a puzzled smile corked on her face.   
  
Abby turned to face her. "What?"   
  
"Why are we always having these conversations in the bathroom?"   
  
"Ah, we're just that high class."   
  
Soon enough, they were back in the reality of the madness, confusion, sadness, hope and despair of the ER. But not so affected that they did not occasionally stop, pause and smile when they had the chance to reflect on their lives outside of these sacred walls. Even when they left, perhaps the mirrors still were etched with the radiance of their contentment, like an engraver leaves their mark on a trophy or an artist's signature on their masterpiece. 


	22. Silhouettes

Title: Hotter Than July  
  
Disclaimer: The ER characters do not belong to me, neither do any products, song lyrics or literary quotations mentioned.  
  
Summary: Warm weather, flirtation and a few lessons to be learned. Luby. Sort of AU, sort of not.  
  
Reviews: Please keep 'em comin'. Gracias. :)   
  
The hot weather had brought with it braces of brazen evenings. This one was no exception. The stratosphere ached heavily with a smoky red mist, like a calligraphy of distress flares waved in chaotic patterns. The sun was as nonchalant as ever, dipping its light just above the lake's calm shore, turning its waters to a viscous ravine of butterscotch. Barely a sigh troubled its surface, but barely an eye was there to witness this placid state. Only the sand was disrupted; by the slow rhythm of footprints, the quiet timbre of voices, even the faint shiver of a melody in the air tripped a beat into the coarse grains.   
  
  
  
Through his eyes, they were just silhouettes, dark, perfect shapes against febrile orange and yellow. He seemed an eternity away, lazily slouching against the smooth concrete wall that separated the sand from the road. Guitar alive in his lap, wriggling like a child, he idly, instinctively composed tunes; tempered and tensioned strings trembling between his fingertips. Mo tipped his gaze towards the horizon momentarily, committing images to his memory like photographs, storing them and turning them to sound.   
  
"It was a test, wasn't it?" Ultraviolet slapped on their backs as they walked side by side, hand in hand, footprints of the past behind them quickly quenched by a thirsty, gentle, lapping wave, like a cat's tongue in milk.   
  
"What?" Abby gazed up at him slowly, confused. She was almost amused by the question.   
  
"When you asked me the other day if I was going back. To Africa." Luka almost regretted this speculation immediately, staring back at the questions in her eyes. Yet it had been on his mind last night, when he had been awake in the middle of a fiery Chicago night, no air, just heat hanging mercilessly, oh so reminiscent of those African nights.   
  
"I wasn't being...cryptic." She paused for a moment to watch the water silently contemplating a change of pace. "I just wanted to make sure that.."  
  
"I didn't want to be with you for just one night." Strangely enough, it was the missing half of her statement and a kind of assertion all blended into one. Luka knew that his string of casual relationships had been common knowledge and feared that their existence, albeit in the past, would be casting shadows of doubt in these early stages. He wouldn't have blamed Abby for being suspicious. Her eyes were still on the water, though she pulled her palm away from his slightly, before squeezing it back into place, a soundless interaction, mimicking the slow tide. Was everybody attempting to enter these fragile slivers of doubt into her mind? Questions of his fidelity had been a brief, passing thought. She watched, mesmerised, as the same sands were churned in the same liquid, time after time. No change, no renewal. Change was good, wasn't it? The same instincts that had guided her to this moment in time were telling her that things had changed, and for the better.   
  
"Did I pass?" He pressed on, needing some kind of clarification.  
  
The urgency, the stirring pathos of regret and shame in his eyes moved her more than she thought it could as she moved from the rippling waves back to his wavering gaze.   
  
"Maybe." Abby exhaled and then smiled, keen to appease his discomfort. "I wouldn't be standing here if I thought that I didn't trust you."   
  
"What if I wanted to go back?"   
  
"To being promiscuous? Then I'll kick your sorry ass, mister."  
  
Luka's expression mixed into something between a smile and a grimace.   
  
"To the Congo."   
  
"Oh, I'll make sure you don't want to go back," she replied with an air of certainty. "Jesus, Luka, didn't you read Heart of Darkness in high school?"An imagined Africa seemed less threatening than a real one.   
  
Slight exasperation penetrated her humorous tone. Did everything about her send men running head-first into war-torn continents?   
  
"It probably didn't translate so well," he said, without much sadness.   
  
Luka examined the sand beneath him, its gravely, coarse darkness alien and uncomfortable. It seemed to cling and irritate, wishing to leave a permanent reminder of its unkindness for some time. Despite this, the air was still, breathless and peaceful. The indecisive tide had become sluggish again, its crisp edges caressing the pearl-hard sands, softening and cleansing.   
  
"I'll bet this sucks in comparison with the beaches back home," Abby announced unexpectedly, as if she had read his mind. She was not-so blindly reaching out into that concealed, secretive part of his being.   
  
"Yeah. Whiter sand, clearer sea. Oh, and topless sunbathing is considered acceptable. That's not personal experience, I read it in a travel guide. That made me laugh."   
  
She laughed aloud, sending a shudder of happiness convulsing through the atmosphere.   
  
"You'll have to take me one day. I mean, not for the gratuitous nudity, 'cause we can have plenty of that here." "But seriously, it would be nice. To meet your family." She wanted to satisfy her burning curiosity about these unmapped pathways of his life.   
  
"Maybe one day. Sometime. It's not always easy to go back." Luka felt a maze of emotions circulating through him, an emptiness mixed with his delight at her energy. He looked at the sand again, watching it displace beneath his feet, sheer pressure carving the marks into its uneven surface. The grains seemed to paint more than a few memories on the tired canvas of his mind. He looked at Abby, her face seemingly asking for these pieces of himself, these fragments.   
  
"My daughter loved the beach. We used to dig these holes and build race cars. A bucket for the steering wheel, a spade for the shift and a lollipop stick for the number one on the front." He let the agony slide through him before smiling at the vivid brilliance of such a perfect moment, so aware that at this very second, he seemed to be creating another of those memories. A cruel, but selfless moment passed between them, an understanding without words. He was giving without even being asked, allowing her into this world would make it all the less painful.   
  
Abby swiftly pulled him into an embrace, not knowing who wanted or needed the comfort more, not trying to hide any tears or any joy that could have meshed themselves together in this instance. Just needing to feel this non-sexual intimacy. To be aware of nothing but slow, timid heartbeats, the tired disbelief of their breath as they stood still, the tide curling up inside seashells and being captured forever as a blissful sound. So they became silhouettes again, dark, shapely, untormented figures, close and vivid against the mandarin and sulphur sky. They lingered for some time before the peace was interrupted by a familiar, vibrant voice.   
  
"Throw her in!" Mo encouraged, his tone halfway between a shout and a scream.   
  
Abby's laugh disrupted the fabric of Luka's shirt before she pulled out of his arms and looked at him quizzically, still holding his hands. She glanced in Mo's direction and then looked back again.  
  
"So, am I going to be competing for your affection?"   
  
He laughed. "As cute as he is, I very much doubt it. He's going on some sort of tour soon anyway."   
  
"I might need just a bit more convincing." Her tone was devilishly playful.   
  
"Well, seeing as topless sunbathing is probably not acceptable right now, you'll have to wait until we get home."   
  
"Lucky for you, I'm very patient."   
  
After they had left, their footprints were erased by the warm, languid water but their conversations would remain for some time, such was the intensity. Now the only silhouette was Mo, the sky bleeding onto his shoulders, the sound of his songs shivering in the silent sands. 


	23. Hopes and Fears

Title: Hotter Than July  
  
Disclaimer: The ER characters do not belong to me, neither do any products, song lyrics or literary quotations mentioned.  
  
Summary: Warm weather, flirtation and a few lessons to be learned. Luby. Sort of AU, sort of not.  
  
Author's Note: Apologies for the long wait, my muse eloped and left me with many uncertainties. Also, Californiagirl, I will be addressing the Brian issue in the future but probably not in this fic..maybe if I do a sequel or in a totally different story..but thanks for your review as always :)  
  
Reviews: This chapter was tough for me, please let me know what you think. :) Thanks. Oh and of course thanks for all the input after the last chapter :)   
  
Dedication: Many many many thanks to Rowena for her editing. Couldn't have done it without you. :) I appreciate it no end. Also thanks to Natasha for her constant encouragement :)   
  
Under the burning spotlights and the icy, comfortless walls, the image seemed too vivid and so wrong. The slow, creaking turn of wheels was progressive, punishing and tuneful; the heavy metal gliding across the polished, shiny floors as if they were as flawless as the walls of heaven. Bleached blue sheets were pale, perfect pieces of linen, entombing, consoling. Yet they were astoundingly vivid against her pallid, colourless skin, her untroubled ringlets of white hair. But in the eyes, precious traces of life, a thousand memories concealed and shared. Across the uneven plateau of sheets laid the most striking, alien of things: a diffusion of rose petals, clustered and scattered like scarlet clots. Her frail fingers seemed to clutch at them as if they were the only thing ever worth holding on to.   
  
"You're off to cardiology now Mrs Webber."   
  
"Sending me up to the angels so I'll get used to the ride?" Luka smiled. Her breathy, but comical expression was painfully admirable. He was beginning to theorise that the wise old woman was not just an oddity, but indeed, a plentiful and mystifying species. He was reminded of his grandmother and her favourite phrase: "I may be old, but I'm not stupid."   
  
"If I could bring them down, I would, but you need the observation."   
  
"I believe you. Tell my son...to..take care of my garden."   
  
"I'll do that," he said, with an affirmative nod. The mechanised breeze that shut the elevator doors sent a few of the claret petals spinning in the air before landing on the floor. He exhaled sadly before bending down slowly to pick them up, the fresh, rich juices ripe against his fingertips.   
  
"What's with the flowers?" Carter asked with a bemused look on his face, wondering what was going on.   
  
"Unstable angina. She was gardening, trimming her favourite rose bush at the time." It was strange how, in troubled times, the things that a person loved, whether they were mere objects or human beings, should choose to cling to them so perfectly.   
  
"Surgery?" He quizzed, as they walked along slowly. As he had come from the other direction, he had not witnessed the full scene.  
  
"Mrs Webber is eighty-one years old, her angina is caused by her diabetes, the surgery is almost as risky as the condition, I doubt anybody would agree to it. So she's off to cardiology for observation."   
  
"Caught between two evils, that pretty much sucks."   
  
"It does." Luka nodded his agreement as they paced along slowly. "The elderly and the kids are some of the most resilient patients though. They don't complain too much either." Philosophy sometimes went hand in hand with medicine.   
  
"Some guys get all the luck. And if the rumours are true, not just at work."   
  
"Are we having this conversation?" He asked, not sure if he wanted to be having it at all. Slowly, he flicked his fingertips together and sadly deposited the petals into the nearest bin.   
  
"I think we're past the bitchy stage, aren't we?"   
  
Luka allowed himself a slight grin, not quite sure what to say next.   
  
"It's surprising what a few Congolese nights can do."   
  
"I hope it's second time lucky for you guys. Really." There was sincerity both in Carter's tone and on his face.   
  
"So do I," Luka replied, feeling a twinge of optimism race through him. That was brief, but better than nothing, he thought.   
  
"You done for today?" He continued, happy to return the conversation to work-related matters.  
  
"A few more hours," Carter replied, sure that someone or something had been observing with interest. In an oddly synchronised movement, both men turned away from each other and looked behind them.   
  
"Gentlemen. Tell me something. Do I pay you to stand around gossiping like a pair of blue-haired old ladies in the salon?" Romano. Who else? Silence ensued.   
  
"Correct. The answer is no. So go and treat some more patients." After this affirmation, he was off, shot away like a cannonball of enigma.   
  
"It's going to be a long few hours."   
  
The door closed rapidly, with such an empty, mournful thud, he was afraid that the powerful summer breeze had damaged it somehow. The wind was boisterous today, battling with the sun in some kind of natural war and winning, the haze lighter and cooler than it had been in some time. She was sitting there, seemingly engrossed in a magazine, legs sloping, toes clawing at the edge of the table, red toenails dangerously reminiscent of those roses. Finally, Abby responded to the noise, leaning her head back curiously, her hair falling down in whispers of gold and brown.   
  
"Hey," she said, with a smile, pressing her thumb hard between the pages, so as not to lose her place.   
  
"Hi," Luka replied, using just the slightest part of his palm to displace her hair and kiss the back of her neck. He sat down slowly, surveying the scene with an interested eye.   
  
"What? I read." "How was your day?"   
  
"Same as always. You know how it is."   
  
"Any more old ladies lusting after you?" She quickly rejected her magazine for the chance to tease.  
  
"She was not lusting after me! She was just being nice." A few days ago, it did seem that the only old ladies he had been dealing with were not wise or charming, but flat out horny. He was trying to give them the benefit of the doubt, trying to remember them as nice old dears.   
  
"Oh come on. Her dying wish was to put her hand on your ass."   
  
"Can you blame her?" He gave as good as he got.   
  
"Maybe not," she replied, peering cheekily over the pages.   
  
"Besides, she wasn't dying, she drank half a bottle of thirty-year-old sherry and convinced herself that it was 1969."   
  
"Well, she wasn't so aware of that at the time."   
  
Luka pressed both his palms into the table, considering getting to his feet, then changing his mind. Somehow his earlier conversation with Carter had lodged itself in the front of his thoughts, begging to be let out into the open.   
  
"I talked with Carter today."   
  
Abby's interest was not piqued, she had already returned to whatever article she was reading. But she could feel his gaze burning through the pages, so she gave up and looked at him intently. "I'm not concerned. Seeing you guys are exclusive members of the Congo club these days." "Forget it, it's ancient history."   
  
Finally, he got to his feet, easing another shirt button open as despite the circulating air, it was still uncomfortably sticky. Thankfully, the water was still cold, he thought, as he watched it rushing to fill his glass.   
  
"And then there were three," Abby said quietly, almost as if it was an afterthought, something she had never meant to articulate, yet nevertheless it trickled from her lips much like the streaming water from the tap.  
  
"Do you still think I'm married to a ghost?" The question was softly spoken, but the pain unmistakable, reminding them both of a harsher conversation in a different lifetime.  
  
Shutting the tap off abruptly, he was glad it had come out as a question. He gripped the base of the glass, his back turned, staring blankly at the wall.   
  
"I didn't exactly say that," she replied, realising that she wasn't doing much to pour water onto the flames.   
  
"Well, you're definitely being cryptic now."   
  
"Luka, I don't want to fight with you about this," Abby asserted, wishing that she had been more tactful in approaching this subject. But she felt that she needed some degree of reassurance and it was better to know now than later, wasn't it?   
  
"Then don't force it out of me." "It's not so easy." Still he could not tear his eyes from the wall, not wanting anyone or anything to read his expression.   
  
"We didn't say it would be. Any of it."   
  
Luka suddenly found his attention drawn to his fingertips, still slightly coloured with the reddish hue of the petals. Was this how his life was always going to be, forever stained by the past? Would he always be somehow tainted by Danijela's beauty, forever marked by the woman he had loved and subsequently buried in the unforgiving, war-disturbed earth? Her legacy to him now was one of smiles, and timeless, beautiful memories, now that considerable time and experience had numbed the indescribable grief significantly. He breathed as if he was taking his final breath and finally turned back, pacing slowly to sit down again.   
  
"There were times that I felt that I was like a ghost too because I didn't feel anything, or I didn't know what to say." "Maybe you were right."   
  
"Hey, we're not trying to score points here," she said lightly, trying to cut the thick tension in the air.   
  
He managed a faint smile, before continuing. "I'm finished with punishing myself for the past and I don't need you to do it either."   
  
"I'm not trying to do that. I just want to make sure that there's nothing between us." "Last time there was too much in the way." "You were right, we had too many people in our relationship." "Both of us," she added, keen to shame the weight of the blame.   
  
"I thought we weren't scoring points," Luka said, with gentle humour.   
  
Abby smiled. "That makes it just about even." She reached out for his hand and took hold of it.   
  
He looked into her eyes for a long moment before he found what he wanted to say, searching for the right words.   
  
"Danijela..she's still with me. But not in the same way. Not because of grief or guilt..but because if I let go completely then I let go of most of the good things about myself. When I was a husband and a father." His voice was thick with emotion.   
  
"There's more to you than just the past, I know that much." Slowly, she kissed his knuckles tenderly.   
  
"I try to only have the good memories now, and they won't get in the way."   
  
"Then don't let go of them." Their eyes locked for an even longer moment, an intense, immovable connection. They shared a delicate kiss, like ribbons of glass, as fragile and intimate as any moment could be, before their heightened emotions were tempered by some kind of normality. The past had to be thrown over the shoulder and dealt with, and it was being dealt with, little by little, piece by piece.   
  
"Have you eaten yet?" Luka asked, not sure if the knot in his stomach was emotion, hunger or a dangerous blend of both.   
  
"No, I thought seeing as you're the master of your own kitchen, you wouldn't mind being the master of mine as well."   
  
He smiled. "I'm flattered, but I don't feel like cooking." "Pizza?"   
  
"If we have pizza that means we have to watch a movie  
  
"No chick flicks though. "A man could only watch Dirty Dancing so many times in one lifetime.  
  
"Relax, American Beauty is on in an hour or so."   
  
The stormy afternoon soon passed into a comfortable evening: pizza, ice-cream and Kevin Spacey's head getting blown off by his neighbour. Very few thoughts had passed through Abby's consciousness in that time. Until she left her bathroom, ready for bed in vest top and shorts, when she found herself leaning speculatively against the door frame to the bedroom. It was more than dark now, the usually red summer sky now ebbing between indigo, jade and coal, intermittent with a touch of silver moon. She watched silently as Luka shrugged off his shirt, after he had opened each button with a painstaking slowness. The very same with his belt, metal and leather slipping between his fingers as if it had all the time in the world. This what it was about, she thought, peeling away all those layers sometimes took time. Whether it was simply clothes or the years of protection that they had both built up to try and evade the hurt.   
  
She crawled into bed, knowing that the cold, untouched sheets would soon be hot with the unrelenting warmth of a summer night, the calm coolness temporary. So was the slight buzz of static as her recently brushed hair crackled against the pillow. He inspected the slight gap in the curtains which allowed in a useless filter of air before joining her, both of them sitting up quietly for a few moments, maybe even minutes.  
  
"Tell me something," Luka said quietly, profoundly.   
  
"What?" Abby asked, resting her cheek against a deliciously muscular shoulder.   
  
"When you're an old lady, you think you'll still want to grab my ass?"   
  
She chuckled. "Now you're just being corny."  
  
He laughed, then asked sleepily, "Don't you mean horny?"   
  
"That can be arranged," she replied, delicately planting a kiss on his chest. But he did not stir, and a quick movement confirmed her immediate suspicions, he was asleep.   
  
Abby then closed her eyes, the only sound daring to tickle across her ears the delicate sounds of their breathing as they lay there, together but divided by the delicate membrane between consciousness and sleep. She listened, to the sound of his slumber and her livid, awakened thoughts, the sound finally willing her to sleep. She did not hear the sound of anything or anybody else, as night's matador silently drew a silky, vivid cape over the day. 


	24. Staring at the Sun

Title: Hotter Than July  
  
Disclaimer: The ER characters do not belong to me, neither do any products, song lyrics or literary quotations mentioned.  
  
Summary: Warm weather, flirtation and a few lessons to be learned. Luby. Sort of AU, sort of not.  
  
Author's Note: Again, sorry for the wait. The penultimate chapter!   
  
Reviews: Please and thanks!   
  
Dedication: Thanks to No.13 Baby for confirming my research :)   
  
The clock had definitely stopped. Its second hand was moving backwards and forwards in the same spot, pulsing like a butterfly's wings, flickering like an eyelash. A dark eye shifted sceptically to it, then to a watch and back again.   
  
"Damn you." It almost came out as a growl.   
  
"Oh God, not you as well. I already have two patients talking to themselves."   
  
Susan joined Abby and followed her line of sight up to the clock.   
  
"Put 'em both in the same room and you've got yourself a conversation." "Anyway, I was talking to the clock," she continued defensively.  
  
"Inanimate objects? That's worse." Susan paused, scanning around briefly, then adding, "It's official, this place will drive us all to an early grave."   
  
"I'm thinking it's a cruel trick, just to keep reminding me that I'm stuck here for another..." She eyeballed her watch again. "Forty-five minutes." Abby was due to leave at seven, and the clock had conveniently stopped at dead-on seven, three times she had managed to convince herself that it was time to leave and three times she had been disappointed. "And nobody from Maintenance will come and fix it." Salt into the wounds.   
  
Susan expelled an objective, thoughtful sigh. "Well, like everything mechanical here, it probably needs a slap." Many a pulse-ox monitor had been repaired with a sharp right-handed blow.   
  
"I'll give you a boost if it bothers you that much." Her tone was frighteningly serious.   
  
Abby rolled her eyes incredulously. "I come here to treat patients, not to become one." She could so clearly imagine them landing in an uncomfortable heap on the floor, with the broken clock still up there, triumphant in its uselessness.   
  
"C'mon, it'll be fun." Susan was being strangely persistent in this strange matter.   
  
"Not my kind of fun," she replied briskly, a smile almost seeming to catch up with her thoughts.   
  
"So now I know why you're so desperate to get away," Susan speculated, in jest.   
  
"Go outside and get your mind outta the gutter."   
  
"Oh, go home and get laid."   
  
They both laughed. "You've got yourself a deal."   
  
The clock then became the least of Abby's worries as she soon found herself attending to an array of serious, critical and comical patients. So many that she was not ready to leave until quarter to eight. The sun seemed to scowl at her with a wicked, searing expression as she prepared to leave. Outside, she straightened her hair, balancing a cigarette guilefully between her fingertips, just about to light when her attention was distracted by a familiar figure. Mostly because this was the first time she had seen Mo ever looking remotely downcast. He was sitting there, elbows dug into his thighs, hands scorching against his cheeks, eyes fixed forward, pensive.   
  
"Hey. I didn't expect to see you hanging around outside the house of death." She didn't know why she put her hand on his shoulder momentarily, before joining him.   
  
"There was me thinkin' it was the house of fun," he said, with a resounding chime, flashing her a smile.   
  
"Only if you're a sadist."   
  
"Nah, my dumb-ass friend managed to dislocate his shoulder playin' basketball so I went to visit. And now I'm just sittin' here. Strangely contemplatin' life." His tone was reflective, with just a hint of mockery.   
  
"A damn sight better than contemplating death," Abby replied, casting a speculative glance in his direction.   
  
"Ah, no time for that," he said, a knowing grin positively radiating enigma.   
  
She put her cigarette cautiously in her mouth, then for some unknown reason, reconsidered. "You mind?"   
  
Mo regarded her curiously, lighter aching to be struck by her thumb, eyes set with concentration.   
  
"Ah..yeah. Smokin' used to be my favourite thing. For a while in my life. Along with amphetamines."   
  
Abby blinked, the sun and Mo's admission coating her in a slow discomfort, which soon began to fade. She was continually surprised by his frankness, his ability to open a conversation so very, very wide.   
  
"C'mon, don't go shy on me now. Everybody wants the second slice of the pie, the "How did you get infected?"   
  
Why is he telling me this? She wondered, looking at the white stick gripped in her fingertips, part of her wishing she had lit up and not given him a choice. On the other hand, maybe his openness was an example. Communication was paramount, wasn't it? She had spent years learning, almost making a mantra of collecting feelings inside without ever turning them into words. Reversing this secrecy was difficult, maybe she was envious of his candour. Mo looked at her, seeing her eyes open, silent with their search for understanding.   
  
"It's stupid really. My Dad died, I felt like shit, I couldn't do anythin', I just felt numb, I felt nothin'. So I got high. It's crazy..." He paused, to regain control over the emotion in his voice. "You can smoke it, sniff it, God knows what. I was impatient. I injected it." Regret and remembrance seemed to fluctuate in his voice, the tone of his experiences seeming to shape into the ultimate learning curve.   
  
"How did your father die?" Abby remembered his sudden admission of his loss on that very first time she had met him, feeling astonished that he should wish to tell a stranger. But strangers were sometimes the easiest people to talk to, unfamiliar, unaware of the complexities of the person that often became a hindrance. Unaware of the past.   
  
"He was shot. Just kids with a gun, bored, nothin' else to do but pull the trigger and see what happens." "All a game to them." "Just a game." If it was possible to touch despair, then it would have been palpable in his words.   
  
He pressed all of his fingertips together, compressing the hurt and anger in bursts of pressure. His eyes wandered to the sky, watching a few dreamy clouds float carelessly, dancing around the vapour trails of jet planes in some kind of celestial tangle.   
  
"Crazily, I almost don't regret it."   
  
"Being an addict?" The three words tripped off her tongue with an empathetic ease.   
  
"Yeah. Sometimes it was euphoric. Like when you're a kid and you're on a trampoline. For a few moments you're above all the problems, you're just floatin' in this space." Mo's dark gaze became that of a dreamer as he assessed this state of mind.   
  
"I understand, believe me. Ignorance is bliss." Abby conceded to herself that there was no way that drinking had ever produced any euphoria, in fact, it was numbing, deadening and cold. But it had the same effect: a mask from the world. An analgesia which was in fact a trick, as it dragged you deeper into the depths of addiction.   
  
"Sure as hell it is."   
  
"But you can't live your life like that." God knows where that philosophical gem came from, she thought.   
  
"Oh, don't you worry, I got the trampoline pulled out from under me and I landed on the concrete on my sorry ass." "Hard."   
  
She laughed at his addition. "I'm sorry, it's just the way you said it."   
  
He shrugged, then chuckled, leaning back. "It's a scary image. But I have a great butt."   
  
"Oh, I couldn't possibly comment." Abby pushed her hands abruptly into her pockets. "How long.."  
  
"Since all the shit went down? Five years. Spent three of them in Germany getting a philosophy degree."   
  
"And you haven't relapsed?" It was easy, it was tempting and she knew it.  
  
"Nah, I'm an all or nothin' kinda guy. Plus, lucky me gets to have needles stuck in me every three months. Every time I have those tests it's a reminder, that sticking needles in me was how it all started. So I'm not tempted."   
  
"What made you want to study?"   
  
"The old sayin', great work comes from great pain. But it comes from great joy too, and that's what I try and do with my music, to find a balance between joy and pain. Really, when I went, I just wanted to get away. I just felt that everywhere I went, there was somebody there to remind me of everything that happened. It was..suffocating."   
  
Grief was often an insular, personal process with little room for anyone else and even the closest allies with the best intentions could make it feel worse. Abby let her mind drift slightly, wondering if this knowledge of loss and escape had forged some kind of sacred bond between Luka and Mo, was it the very essence of their strange friendship? She felt a sharp sting of what could have been jealousy, she could only attempt to understand, she could never actually feel that incomplete circle of despair and repair on the same level.   
  
As quickly as it had risen to bother her, she pushed the doubt away again. What did it matter? Surely he would not have wished anybody to understand such agony?  
  
"So I'm guessing your family don't live in Chicago?" It was not a speculation purely based on his admission of moving away, but something in his voice that seemed to indicate this was not his home city.   
  
Mo grinned, almost pleased at being quizzed. "Right on. Sacramento, California. My Mom and my sister Annie, who's fifteen."   
  
"That's quite an age gap," Abby theorised, surprised.   
  
Mo smiled. "I think she was the result of a cold night and too much brandy. But we love her. I miss her."   
  
"Luka tells me you're going on a tour."   
  
His grin became wider. "Yeah, end of the month. Spinnin' disks in the UK, France, Spain and Italy. And there's my Mom sayin' "You can't make a livin' outta playin' records my son!" He mocked in a high-pitched, Caribbean tone.   
  
She could almost sense an air of derision in his tone, but knew how complex and painful relationships with one's mother could be, and decided not to press any further.   
  
Slowly, Abby leant back and pressed her fingers together inside her left pocket and grasped an object, a memory suddenly flashing through her, as rapid as the cruel sunlight, not willing to calm its relentless heat.  
  
"I forgot to give you this," she said quietly, producing the dry, hard, decaying cherry stone from her pocket.   
  
The expression that formed on Mo's face swayed between being bemused and being amused. "You didn't plant it?"   
  
She shook her head lightly.   
  
"Just as well, I guess, my cousin thinks that a spade is somethin' you eat dinner with."   
  
"I'll bet lunch with him is something else." She placed it in his palm, watching his face with caution, observing as he rolled it around with the tip of his thumb.   
  
"There must be some better gardeners in Chicago, though," he said, thoughtfulness rising in his throat. Mo eyed the building conspiratorially and stood up. "Any way you can sneak me in to an upstairs window?"   
  
Intrigue shot through Abby's veins as she contemplated the mystery, watching him juggle the tiny stone in his hand, throwing and catching it again without even watching.   
  
"Oh, I can do better than that."   
  
It was so hot on the rooftop that it felt as if brick, mortar and tar were melting away, subsiding from creation into useless, oozing matter. To the left, red clouds had been underscored with slick gushes of lilac, to the right orange and yellow battled slowly, ahead, the city was just angular, hard, dark shapes, the tops of buildings glowing like candles on a cake. The air had been tortured and battered, but was still and thick with meaning, humidity as heavy as lead.   
  
They both stood, arms folded, staring at the sun for a moment, not frightened that they may be blinded by the uncompromising ball of pasts and of futures. They exchanged a quick glance, before Mo wound his clenched fist backwards and finally flung the tiny stone into the oblivion of the city. For a fleeting moment it appeared as a minimal dot scarred on the cityscape, before it disappeared forever, to give renewal and hope wherever it landed and rooted itself in the receptive earth. He rubbed his hands together satisfactorily, then slid them inside his pockets energetically, before silently turning on his heels, loving to disappear without notice, without a word. As hesitant as she was to turn away from the mystifying scene, Abby did so, and found some words.   
  
"I'll see you around." It felt lame, but at the same time, poignant.   
  
He stopped and turned back to face her. "You betcha," he replied, with a wink as quick as a flash. With that, he was fading slowly away, consumed by the world as easily as the stone had been, but destined just as the stone was: to reappear again as something just as powerful, hopeful and striking. 


	25. Night and Day

Title: Hotter Than July  
  
Disclaimer: The ER characters do not belong to me, neither do any products, song lyrics or literary quotations mentioned.  
  
Summary: Warm weather, flirtation and a few lessons to be learned. Luby. Sort of AU, sort of not.  
  
Author's Note: The final chapter. After a good two years of on-off writing! I hope you all enjoyed this as much as I enjoyed writing it. I'll be back, I'm planning a sequel to this, but I also have many short fanfics that I am in the process of finishing. Thank you all so much for reading. I might seem to write with many words, but I don't think I can get across how much your responses mean to me. :) By the way, this final chapter contains non-graphic sexual content, so skip the first paragraph if you don't want to read that bit.   
  
Reviews: Your comments on the final chapter and on the story as a whole please. Even if you haven't reviewed before and have been reading, please let me know what you think. Thanks.   
  
Dedications: Where to start LOL. To Claire, for urging me to write this and for reading way back when. Thanks! I needed that first push! Natasha, a constant piece in my creative backbone. I can't believe you started reading this when you had never even seen ER. Forever indebted, I hope you were addicted to this shindig ;) Sass: We'll be hosting that Essex writer's convention soon ;) Thanks for reading and all the help. Rowena: Chapter 23 was my nemesis, you helped me overcome it! Thanks! Here's to more Luby convos in the future. :) No.13 Baby: Without your encouragement to post I think this would still be lingering on my hard-drive. Thanks for the constant and thorough reviews :) formelynoname: I always knew that your review would be there and as a writer who often feels insecure, that means a lot to me, and I also thank you for championing my work at TWoP :) Californiagirl and Mrs Eyre: Your stories are so great I feel privileged that you took the time to review mine. Thanks.   
  
Finally, apologies to anybody I missed out and a huge thank you to EVERYONE and I mean everyone who read and reviewed. Love ya! I'll be back!   
  
Life is made of many colours at many different times, it is often an unstable palette of varying emotion. Just before dawn, everything seemed as if it were painted a timid midnight blue, like ink burst from the fragile nib of a fountain pen. In the midst of a thousand caresses, they were drenched with colour. Her hair vanilla and chestnut in the light, teasing grip of his fingers. Their kisses an exquisite red fever, misty with desire. The cluster of sheets pale with indifference, creased with the memory of movement. Her fingertips as white-hot as the fading stars as she tenderly, erratically gripped his skin. His eyes as certain and enchanting as dawn's grey light as he watched her, felt her, moved deeper within her. Her gaze dark-brown, hazy and heavy with pleasure and emotion as she rocked slowly, fluidly. His name a light, sacred cry on her lips as she came, her name a deep, dark whisper as he felt that final agonising shiver, pulling her closer. The breaking light silver and azure against them as they merged into each others' arms, sanguine and sleepy.  
  
"I missed you while we were apart." Abby's confession breathless as she traced figures-of-eight on his chest with her thumb. Luka found himself caught in one of those moments when he could not find any words. Not in any language. He did not expect that she had ever had any reason to feel aggrieved that he was not a significant part of her life.   
  
"It was better that way," he said slowly, knowing that separation had been a necessary journey for both of them. Knowing there was still a long way to go.   
  
"Maybe." Her reply was slow, thoughtful, caught between certainty and doubt. "Learning to be apart was the easy bit, I guess." A little more assurance this time.   
  
"Holding it all together is the hard part." Experience seemed to knit through his tone as she stopped making patterns and moved to look at him for a moment.   
  
"Does that scare you?" Abby asked, while leaning on her elbow.  
  
Silence, then a casual shrug, as Luka reached for his watch to find out what the time was. "Nobody knows what will happen," he said pensively, examining the dial.  
  
"It's not..." He paused as if to make a more profound statement. "Mission Impossible." She smiled, his reply totally unexpected.   
  
"It will be. When Maggie comes back. Which she will. Like a boomerang."   
  
"Tom Cruise is too short to catch a boomerang, but I think I can manage it."   
  
Abby laughed this time, squeezing his hand. "It's not funny."   
  
"We'll be fine," he replied, pushing a stray strand of her hair behind her ear.   
  
She was tempted to believe him, even if experience had taught her better. "Don't say that. You'll jinx it."   
  
"OK. We won't be fine."   
  
"Much better."   
  
More of the morning's fresh, new light entered the room as she slid back down, laying there silently, his arm around her shoulders. Jokes aside,   
  
Abby felt a little better about the future. There was little use in speculation when even the best plans could go wrong, or in fact right. Yet she had one near certainty: she would not be running away, whatever happened.   
  
"It's early. What are we going to do for the rest of the day?" Luka spoke with the voice of a man who was going to relish a day without work.   
  
"I'm not moving an inch," Abby affirmed.   
  
"Laziness is bad for you."   
  
"I didn't say anything about sleeping."   
  
He exhaled loudly and laughed. "What would you do without me?"   
  
"I'm not even gonna answer that."   
  
Silent sunlight was followed by noise, the digital alarm pealing annoying sound. An outstretched arm thumped the box and it was swiftly muted. Luka cursed to himself, feeling that he had been over-zealous in ending the irritating bleeping, his palm momentarily stinging with regret. He turned to his left and his discomfort turned to mystification, at the sight of an empty bed. Eight a.m on an non-work morning and Abby was out of bed. Who said miracles didn't exist? He blinked as he realised that she had hastily attached a Post-It note to the pillow. It read: "Laziness is bad for you. Be back soon."   
  
He grinned and expeditiously showered and dressed, awaiting her return while toast leapt from the toaster, coffee lingered in the pot and the radio blared. He slouched on the couch while scanning the TV guide. Soon enough, keys were rattling in the lock, the door opened and closed and a slightly aggrieved Abby arrived. She flung the newspaper and the bag she had been holding at the table, swiftly followed by the metallic crash of her keys.   
  
"Is it me, or is everybody pissed-off in the morning?"   
  
"It's you," Luka replied firmly. "You must have been a night-time baby."   
  
She grinned wryly. " I have no idea," she replied, crossing, then unfolding her arms as she heard the reflectivenesss in her voice.   
  
"Maybe you should find out," he said, prising a cautious eye away from his reading to read her expression.   
  
"Ten out of ten for subtlety." She immediately knew that this was a disguised continuation of their earlier talk about her mother.   
  
"You realise you're not safe from my morning madness until at least one?" There was no intent in her words, lightness in her tone as she picked up an orange from the fruit bowl, considering it as a mischievous missile.   
  
"We'll talk about it later." He almost seemed to be suggesting that they had all the time in the world, even if they both knew how cruel and capricious time could be.   
  
Abby crossed the room slowly, noticing that the Greek Tragedies book that he had been reading for some time was precariously perching on the edge of the couch. The stories that were meant to make everything bearable, the fiction that protected from fact. Who needs books? She took aim and threw it confidently into the nearest bin. Luka looked up, confused.   
  
"What are you doing? I paid fifteen dollars for that book."   
  
"I think that was the real tragedy," she replied, with a secret, slow smile. He decided not to be annoyed at the demise of his book, feeling somehow that he would trade his many a novel for the rare beauty of her smiles. Although, they seemed to be a little less scarce these days. Abby pushed the nearest cushion into his lap and quickly joined him, gazing slowly at the ceiling, before he discarded the TV guide and she took hold of Luka's hand. Their fingers knitted together with a consummate ease. They both knew they would be holding on for some time. Through the rest of the devilish, hot summer; into the indecisive green, ochre, red and brown of autumn; against the punishing ice and snow of winter. Even in the spring, when there may just be a hint of cherry blossom caught up in the enchanting breeze. 


End file.
